Embers
by MizJoely
Summary: Sometimes a fire needs time to catch, but when it finally does, the resulting conflagration can warm as well as burn. Omegaverse Sherlolly. Part 2 (Inferno) now complete.
1. Prologue: Heat

_A/N: OK, so this story is kind of an experiment, a jaunt into the Omegaverse and exploring the A/B/O dynamic from a radically different angle than most of the other stories I've read, so I'm not sure what people will think. In other words, although the first half of the story will discuss things like Knotting and sex and Omegas going into Heat, there will be no actual in-story sex until Part 2._

_The other kinda weird thing about this story is that I literally wrote it today. And will be posting it in three parts: this prologue, another sort-of prologue set 15 years later, and then the real meat and potatoes of the story, the part with the actual Sherlolliness. So, um, yeah. Enjoy, but if you hate it, I'd much rather have you tell me so in a PM than any other venue. Just sayin'. _

_Plus, I own nothing but the plot and the words in the character's mouths and the things I make them do. Everything else belongs to the BBC and Mofftiss._

_Oh yeah - basically unbeated and unedited, but read over and encouraged to upload by the wonderful wickedwanton. Thanks, you're always a great help! And yes to anyone who cares, I am still working on "When Darkness Falls." This just sort of took over my life for a day._

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**Prologue: 1984**

"Mycroft! Mycroft!"

Mycroft Holmes winced, knowing that angry, petulant tone even from far down the stairs. Something had happened to set off his younger brother's volatile temper again, and knowing the six-year-old Alpha's stubbornness, he wouldn't shut up about it until Mycroft had either thoroughly explained it or taken care of whatever the problem turned out to be.

Sometimes he really, really hated being the elder brother. He was only thirteen, why did it always fall on him to explain things to Sherlock?

_Because Father is rarely home, and he's the only other Alpha Sherlock trusts,_ the cold, practical portion of Mycroft's mind retorted.

Not that there were any other Alphas on the Holmes estate; Father was one of those who couldn't tolerate even perceived competition on his own territory for long periods of time. Too sensitive to the scents, too apt to offer challenges even though he was in a class of his own and Lifebonded to boot. Conversely, those very traits made him a superb diplomat, since he tended to dominate other Alphas outside his own territory to great effect – and to the advantage of the British government. Mycroft knew he would follow in his father's footsteps one day and have just as high a position, although not necessarily via the Diplomatic Corps. Too bad Mummy…

Mycroft scowled, an expression that look far too natural on his teenaged face. Could _that_ be what this was about? He really, really hoped not. He'd heard his younger brother questioning Mummy on the differences between being Lifebonded – a biological imperative between Alphas and their Omega mates – and marriage, a convention based on religious and societal norms, but hadn't paid attention to the conversation, busy with his summer reading list.

"Mycroft!" His brother's shrill, insistent tones broke into his thoughts as he finally burst through the door to Mycroft's study. "It isn't fair!"

Mycroft sighed and closed his book, looking over at his brother with as neutral an expression as he could manage.

The two brothers couldn't have looked more different: Mycroft, pudgy and sandy blonde, Sherlock a skinny bit of nothing covered by a tangled mop of dark brown hair. Mycroft favored their mother, Sherlock their father, but both had inherited intense blue eyes from the Vernet side of the family. In that, they both favored their mother. "What is it, Sherlock?" he asked. "What isn't fair this time?"

A great deal seemed unfair to his younger brother, with his passionate temper and seemingly endless capacity for asking questions. He braced himself, knowing his suspicions were about to be confirmed.

And so they were. "Mummy says she and Daddy can never be married cause she's an Omega!" Sherlock was fairly vibrating with indignation, and Mycroft bit back a sigh. When did he become the one source for all wisdom for Sherlock?

Since he already knew the answer to that question – "since always" – he did his best to answer the one his brother had actually asked. "Look, Sherlock, that's just the way the law works. Mummy and Father don't have to be married like ordinary people, cause he's a powerful Alpha and she's an Omega. Lifebonding is much more important than marriage," he added, hoping that answer would be enough.

May as well hope for the rain not to fall. Sherlock's jaw jutted out in a very familiar, very stubborn pose. "But just cause Mummy's an Omega, she's still a person, why doesn't she have the same rights as the rest of us? It's not fair!"

"You already said that," Mycroft found himself snapping, mostly because he'd felt exactly the same way as Sherlock when he discovered how few rights Omegas had, even in the supposedly enlightened 20th century. "No, it's not fair, but it's the way the world works. There are biological reasons Omegas can't have the same rights as other people. Things you wouldn't understand," he added, somewhat spitefully. Because no matter how intelligent his younger brother was, six was really and truly too young to understand the concept of Omega Heat cycles and Knotting.

His face burned a bit red as he thought the forbidden word. He'd only learned about the sexual needs of Alpha males this past year, on one of their father's brief visits home between diplomatic missions. Puberty had struck with a hammer blow; he'd woken up with far too many morning erections and the sight of the swollen glands at the base of his cock had panicked him into actually talking to his father about it.

That had been a very interesting conversation – but not one he was going to share with a six-year-old. Even though said six-year-old was vociferously demanding to know what Mycroft meant about biology and why he thought he couldn't understand and…

"Sherlock!" Mycroft shouted, scowling at his brother as he stood before him, arms crossed and red-faced. He subsided, meeting Mycroft's scowl with one of his own. "Look, there are laws about all kinds of things, right?" Sherlock nodded warily. "Well, sometimes they make sense and sometimes they don't. Sometimes they're fair and sometimes they're not. And sometimes," he added, tromping over Sherlock's clear intention to question him on that point, "they seem unfair when they're really to protect people."

That caught his brother's interest; the scowl vanished, replaced by a puzzled expression. Good. That meant he was really listening and would actually think about what he was being told. "Omegas have a special biology that you'll learn more about when you're older," Mycroft continued, softening his voice a bit. "It makes things difficult for them to just go about like other people, like Betas and Alphas and regular Humans." Regular Humans, in fact, were the ones who insisted on the laws preventing Omega females from having the same rights as everyone else, but that was an entirely different matter and one he would allow Sherlock to one day discover on his own – when he was much, much older. "The laws are to protect them, not to punish them. The marriage law is like that, but it doesn't matter, because Lifebonding really is more important. Did Mummy say she was sad that she couldn't be married to Father?" he asked shrewdly.

Sherlock looked a bit shifty, which meant Mycroft's interpretation was spot on. "Well, no," he admitted after a minute of silent staring between the brothers. "She said I shouldn't worry about it. That she was happy the way things were and that I'd understand when I was older." The stubborn look returned to his face, the scowl almost as natural on his features as it appeared on Mycroft's. "I hate when people tell me that, Mikey," he pouted.

Mycroft relaxed. Once Sherlock started calling him by his family nickname, it meant he knew the battle was lost, at least for the moment. "Yeah, I always hate it, too, Sherly," Mycroft confessed. "But just think; when we're older, we'll be able to tell it to kids, too."

The brothers shared a grin, then the conversation turned to Sherlock's current obsession, pirates, which Mycroft willingly entered into. He was leaving for boarding school in two weeks, and their time together after that would be limited to summers and holidays.

He only hoped it wouldn't cause too much trouble, for Sherlock not to have someone regularly on hand to turn to with his endless questions. His curious, agile mind was even sharper than his own, although it pained Mycroft to admit it. Still, they could always write to one another, and impulsively he told Sherlock, whose penmanship and grasp of grammar and spelling were almost equal to Mycroft's own, to write down any troublesome questions he might have while he was at school, and he would do his best to answer them.


	2. Simmer

**Fifteen Years Later – 1994**

"Mycroft, I do wish you would stop trying to force your views on me."

Twenty-one-year-old Sherlock was scowling. Twenty-eight-year-old Mycroft was scowling right back. He'd grown into his weight over the years, so that now he was almost as lean as his brother, all adolescent chubbiness completely vanished – although his younger brother never let him forget his former fondness for pastries and sweets and how it had affected his waistline.

"And I do wish you'd stop trying to deny the part biology plays in your life," he shot back. "You're an Alpha, Sherlock, that has been clear since long before you reached adolescence. Just because you have a higher level of self-control than most others…"

"Including you," was the snide interruption.

Mycroft did his best to ignore the hit – he was Lifebonded to an Omega he'd met through one of the many agencies available for higher level Alphas and had been for three years now – although his irritation was growing. "…doesn't mean you can ignore your body's needs indefinitely," he finished, his scowl deepening as he recognized the stubborn thrust of his brother's chin. "At the very least you should go to a House of Heat and burn off some of the excess energy you've been building up…what, ever since you left Harvard?"

Sherlock's red face told him he'd made a hit of his own that time. "It's been that long, hasn't it?" Mycroft pressed. "You've not been with an Omega since then, have you? And it's beginning to affect more than your temper, I'll wager."

The way Sherlock suddenly refused to meet his eyes answered him more clearly than words. "It's ridiculous," his younger brother finally growled, raking frustrated fingers through his hair. The same mop of ridiculous dark curls he'd had since infancy; why wouldn't he simply give in and chop them off was a mystery Mycroft had never plumbed. "Why should it make a difference if I Knot some random Omega or abstain? I've trained my body to respond to the control of my mind; to have it rebelling like some brainless adolescent at this late stage is utterly confounding!"

Mycroft knew the answer to his brother's protests – but then, so did Sherlock. Yes, biology could be overcome through sheer willpower – to a certain extent. If Sherlock had been a Beta or even a normal baseline Human or, God forbid, one of the rare male Omegas, he could most likely go indefinitely ignoring his body's needs. He could continue to eat only every few days, sleep even less, and forgo sex altogether. However, he wasn't any of those other types of Humanity, he was an Alpha. And as an Alpha there was a great deal his body required despite the mind's demands.

He needed to eat regularly, or else his metabolism went haywire. One low blood-sugar coma in late adolescence had been enough to convince Sherlock of that. He needed to sleep every forty-eight hours at a minimum, or else his senses – even his keen sense of smell, so valuable to an Alpha – became affected.

As for sex…well. The hormones secreted by Omegas helped to balance out a great deal of the aggressiveness and restlessness that was part of an Alpha's nature. And for one as highly strung as his brother, avoiding sex was tantamount to a sort of intellectual suicide. He put it that way, quite bluntly, reminding his brother that the one thing he valued most about himself – his sharp mind – was at risk if he didn't do something. "Drugs will only short-circuit your needs for so long, little brother," he said, making it clear that he understood exactly how Sherlock had been attempting to avoid physical intimacy with an Omega for the past two years. "Eventually the dependency you're fostering will do as much damage to your mind as avoiding sex."

Sherlock, who had been lounging on the chair next to his brother's in the front parlor of the Holmes family estate, rose abruptly to his feet and stalked out of the room. Mycroft sighed and passed a hand over his eyes. Did Sherlock honestly expect him not to notice his drug use? Even though he wore long sleeves and avoided the outdoors as much as he'd embraced it as a child, the pallor and dark smudges under his eyes, the excess jitteriness he exhibited, all told as much to Mycroft's keen mind as did the scent that now clung to Sherlock's body.

He just hoped it was a stage, experimentation his brother would quickly grow out of, grow bored with – or deduce for himself how damaging it could be to his mind. Well, perhaps not that last, Mycroft reluctantly concluded, or else he'd have already given up the damned habit. Which was just another piece of evidence cementing Mycroft's observations, actually; his brother needed to get laid, in the vernacular, or he would continue to fall apart until there was nothing left to him.

Their father's death the year before hadn't helped. Their mother's slow descent into melancholy – clinical depression, they'd call it if she weren't an Omega who'd lost her Bonded Lifemate – was just another nail in his brother's intellectual coffin, as it were. Both events were affecting Mycroft as well, but his own Bondmate had helped stabilize him, keep him grounded.

Even if Sherlock wasn't quite ready for that step, he needed to at least consider the idea of regularly visiting a House of Heat in order to help stabilize his own biology, to reach an emotional equilibrium he quite possibly had never felt. Didn't he recognize the difference in himself between now and when he was shagging the occasional Omega during his two years at Harvard?

Of course, those women had been illicitly provided to the male Alphas rather than belonging to a certified, regulated and government-endorsed House. The equivalent, Mycroft was given to understand, of a Beta or regular Human male seeking out a streetwalker rather than going to a government-run bordello. He understood the adrenalin rush of doing something relatively dangerous, but Sherlock was no longer an adolescent or a student; he'd begun to form some kind of ties to New Scotland Yard and was utilizing his considerable intellect in assisting some of the detectives there in solving their cases.

If he didn't do something about his growing hormonal imbalances, that could be jeopardized as well. Mycroft hoped Sherlock would come to that conclusion on his own, and not need to have it pointed out to him. His younger brother was painfully sensitive to having faults in his thinking pointed out to him.

Mycroft sighed and rose to his feet. All this tedious emotionalism was making him restless; he felt the need for Petra's soothing presence to calm him down. Sherlock, he decided as he headed up the stairs to the rooms he and his Bondmate shared, would have to work things out himself. Mycroft had done as much as he could to help the stubborn git.

**oOo**

Bloody Mycroft and his bloody, stupid, interfering ways. Sherlock snarled as he paced rapidly back and forth in his bedroom, the scowl on his face fierce enough to frighten anyone away. Not that anyone would challenge him, here in the family home. Certainly not now that their father had gone and gotten himself embroiled in some ridiculous i_affaire du Coeur/i_ leading to his death at the hands of an enraged Alpha. Even though the Omega in question hadn't been the other Alpha's Bondmate, she'd certainly been his property. Father should have known better; after all, he'd been regularly unfaithful to their mother ever since her inability to bear more children had been revealed.

That, Sherlock knew, was when it had begun. When his carefully ordered world had fallen apart. Mycroft had been away at school, his second year at Eton, when the doctors had given their parents the news.

Sherlock, of course, hadn't been meant to overhear any of it; he'd been out in the gardens with his nanny, a placid Beta named Eve, but had scampered away from her and hidden in the hedge maze. She was still looking for him there when he gleefully snuck back into the house, intent on raiding the kitchen for a treat when his parents' raised voices had caught his attention.

It wasn't unusual to hear Father shouting at something or other that had enraged him, but to hear Mummy's voice raised in anger was an entirely different matter. So he'd snuck over to the front parlor, stopping at the door and listening with wide-eyed attention as the argument escalated.

"We're Bondmates, Giles," his mother was shouting, the clear sound of tears in her voice. "Did you think I'd not know how you felt? How you still feel? For God's sake, it's not my fault! You heard Dr. Sigerson – it's some genetic defect, rare but not unheard of. Why do you persist in acting like I did it on purpose? Don't you think I wanted more children?"

She'd broken down in sobs at that point. Sherlock couldn't help it; he'd rushed into the room, unable to stand the sound of his mother so sad, only to meet his father's furious eyes. "Get out, Sherlock, this doesn't concern you!" he'd all but shouted at his youngest son.

The Alpha in Sherlock, still forming but backed by a strength of will far beyond his eight years, refused to back down. Instead of leaving, he'd gone defiantly to his mother's side – she was sitting on the sofa, rocking back and forth, hands over her face as she continued to cry – and put his arms around her. "You get out," he'd snarled, voice pitched high with his own anger. "You made Mummy cry, not me!"

He and his father had locked gazes; just as Sherlock was about to lower his eyes and admit defeat, his father had, miraculously, thrown his hands up and stormed out of the room.

Mummy had cried for a long, long time after his father left them alone, clutching Sherlock to her as if he were the only thing anchoring her to the world. When she'd cried herself out, she seemed to realize that her son, still so young, was comforting her when it had always been the other way round. She'd managed a smile, kissed him on the tip of his nose and sent him back out to the hedge maze once he admitted that was where Eve was looking for him. "Don't worry her, Sherlock, it isn't nice," his mother had remonstrated. "And thank you for letting me cry all over you, darling. But Mummy's much better now."

She hadn't been; Sherlock had known that even if he still didn't understand all the nuances of the fight between his parents.

But he recognized them now, in spite of his deliberate attempts to distance himself from emotions and sentiment all the distasteful fallout they left in their wake. He knew so much more now than he had when he'd first demanded answers from Mycroft, when he'd been six and so outraged by the fact that his parents weren't legally allowed to marry.

Not that it would have made a difference, he snorted disdainfully. Lifebonding was supposed to be forever, a link between mind and heart, but even that had proven fleeting, transient, when one half of the Bonded pair proved to be inadequate to the needs of the other half.

He didn't blame his mother; how could he? She'd been right, after all. A genetic defect that hadn't been detected – even though all Omegas considered for Bonding with members of the elite went through rigorous genetic testing before being placed, such tests were far from perfect – was the fault of the testing, not of the person being tested. That their father had been unable to hide his rejection of their mother due to the bond they shared only put the blame more firmly on him, in Sherlock's mind.

Lifebonding. The mere thought of putting himself through that kind of hell made Sherlock's blood run cold. How could Mycroft put himself into such a position, after witnessing firsthand the fact that it didn't guarantee anything? Not happiness, not faithfulness…nothing. Lifebonding was supposed to be more permanent than marriage, more binding, but in the end they both proved to be nothing but illusions.

Illusions he would never subject himself to. Yes, he was willing to admit (grudgingly) that Mycroft was probably right about the necessity of Knotting the occasional Omega just to relieve his body of the stresses of simply being an Alpha male, but as for taking one as a Bondmate…No. Never.

Besides, taking a Bondmate, even in this day and age, was still tantamount to taking on ownership of another Human being, which his intellect and much-hated emotions both rebelled against. If Omegas were allowed to vote, to marry, to go out in public without either their mate or a designated chaperone/bodyguard accompanying them, then he supposed he wouldn't feel as strongly about it. However, the world was the way it was, and there was damned little one person could do to change it.

Especially if one's elder brother was part of the government that condoned keeping roughly a fifth of the population in virtual slavery.

He ran over the pertinent facts in his mind, although he refused to admit that he was relieved to be thinking about something other than his personal situation for a few minutes.

There were far more "normal" Humans than Alphas, Betas, or Omegas. Betas outnumbered Alphas roughly three to one, and Omegas were an even scarcer percentage of the population. So scarce, in fact, that the current laws, which had been in place since the Victorian era, actually were designed to protect them, even while serving in actuality to keep them even more circumscribed than orthodox Muslim females in the Middle East.

Omegas had been traded about, sold, forced into near-constant heat cycles by the ruthless Alphas who controlled them, for centuries. The laws forbidding them to legally marry were old, so old that they'd hardened into unbreakable tradition, but the newer laws at least kept them from literal slavery. Unbonded females from the age of fifteen or after their first Heat (some Omega females were fortunate enough not to endure that particular biological torment until their early twenties) were removed from their homes and brought together in state-sponsored dormitories. Once ensconced there, they were thoroughly instructed on the lives they were expected to live – brainwashing, pure and simple, in Sherlock's mind – and how they were expected to cater to the Alphas they encountered from that point forward. They were instructed on childbirth, drilled on their duty to produce as many children as possible (although why that particular need was emphasized, given the world's current state of overpopulation, had always been and probably would always remain a mystery to him), and essentially turned into geishas who were taught to put their own needs far behind those of their potential mates.

And that, Sherlock knew from his research (he'd been fascinated and repelled by the world Omegas were forced to inhabit ever since his attempts to make Mycroft explain things to him when he'd been six and far too young, he admitted now, to understand) was just the life for the Omegas destined to become Bondmates to elite, upper class Alphas. The life his mother had endured, once upon a time. The Omegas who weren't deemed worthy of that type of life for genetic or societal reasons based on their race or age of first Heat and many, many other variables – some logical and some purely prejudicial – led far less comfortable lives. Yes, sexual slavery for Omegas was officially ended, but what had replaced it was no less sickening.

Houses of Heat, as they were commonly called, were no better than brothels in Sherlock's mind. Yes, both were legal and run mostly by the government, but both came down to the same thing: Women selling their bodies to multiple men for strictly sexual purposes. Yes, the official line on Houses of Heat was that they were to ensure that all Alphas had the chance to Knot an Omega and therefore keep their innate aggressiveness somewhat in check; yes, they were supposed to be available for Lifebonding and child bearing, but the truth was somewhat less than ideal.

Research Sherlock had conducted – clandestine research, since the government, worldwide and not just in Britain, flatly refused to allow statistics to be gathered in this area except by their own people – proved conclusively, at least to his mind, that Omegas for the lower class produced far less offspring than the government claimed. There were fewer Lifebonds as well, and not just because of the disparity between numbers of available Alpha males and numbers of available Omega females.

It was nothing less than an outrage – and one Sherlock had found he was absolutely unable to interest more than a handful of people in discussing. His friend in London, John Watson, was one of those few. DI Lestrade of New Scotland Yard was another. It was somewhat of a relief, being able to discuss his frustrations with the two other men – one a middle-class Beta and one an equally middle-class Alpha with a Beta wife who couldn't be faithful if her life depended on it, although Lestrade certainly had no interest in Sherlock ever pointing that out to him again – but still frustrating since neither of them had any more of an idea how to change things than he did.

He sighed and stopped pacing, throwing himself into one of the armchairs flanking his room's fireplace, staring moodily into the dancing flames. This absolute inability to change anything about his society in this one aspect was one of the other reasons he shied away from sentiment. If he could do nothing to ease the plight of Britain's Omegas – many of whom, he knew, would violently disagree with his labeling of them as downtrodden – then what was the use of feeling much of anything? Oh, friendship was, he'd reluctantly learned, something quite a bit more valuable than he'd believed it to be, especially since he'd met John, but love? Romance? Ridiculous. Pointless.

Which left only sex. His brother, of course, had been smart enough not to try and press Sherlock into seeking out a Bondmate, only in relieving himself sexually. And at least the Houses of Heat that would be available to him as an upper class Alpha would be the types to care for their Omegas meticulously. They would be somewhat educated, sophisticated, beautiful, impeccably groomed…and deadly dull. Boring as dishwater outside of their Heat cycles.

But then, since he had no desire to Bond, what did it matter? In fact, he thought recklessly as he jumped back to his feet, what the hell did any of it matter? The world was what the world was, and there was nothing he could do about it. So why not just give in and do as his brother advised? A good fuck wouldn't solve everything, but it would definitely help with his restless aggressiveness.

"Fuck it," he said aloud, heading for his bed and pulling his suitcase from beneath it. He slammed it down on the dark blue comforter, opened it and began throwing the clothes he'd brought with him for the weekend back into it, even though he'd just arrived a few hours ago. Once he made up his mind, he immediately followed through. Mummy would be disappointed, of course, but he'd been disappointing her ever since dropping out of Harvard; why change things now? Especially since there was absolutely nothing he could do to bring her out of her depression. Nothing short of his father's miraculous return to life could help an Omega who'd lost her Bondmate – even if said Bondmate hadn't been a physical part of her life for years.

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_A/N: Well, there's Part 2. Part 3 (the longest bit where Molly actually makes an appearance) will be posted shortly. The 2nd half of the story is still under construction but won't be long, promise!_


	3. Boil

**The Present**

Sherlock sighed and took another drag on his cigarette, one leg elegantly crossed over the other, foot jiggling with impatience. He'd arrived early for his appointment at John Watson's urging. The other man had recently returned to London after being invalided out of the army and had immediately looked up his old friend. They'd become flatmates and had settled into a comfortable routine; John had proven invaluable as an assistant on the cases Sherlock now worked for Lestrade and other DI's at New Scotland Yard but simply could not stand how Sherlock got when he'd gone too long without seeking the services of an Omega.

Things had changed a bit in the past nineteen years, although not as much as could be hoped. Omegas were still as much chattel as they had been, but research had improved their lives immensely. Heats could be suppressed during the first ten years of their lives if their body chemistry was compatible with the drugs, so many Omegas were able to remain with their families until adulthood, at which point, heat suppressants or not, they were still obliged to remove themselves from society at large, the excuse being that the drugs were known to fail completely if an Omega using them were exposed to a multitude of Alpha males, especially under non-controlled situations. Birth control for Omegas had been developed as well, so that Knotting was no longer the practical guarantee of conception that it had once been.

The female Omegas – males had never endured the societal prejudices their female counterparts endured, especially since they were incapable of conceiving or falling into Heat – had earned a few freedoms as well. They were allowed to vote and hold certain careers outside the home, under very strict circumstances. There was one Omega who taught at an all-girl's school now, for instance, although only after she'd undergone an emergency hysterectomy when she was discovered to have uterine cancer after her first – and only – pregnancy. That was after uni became available for Omegas in the late 1990s – an all girl's school, of course, with only female Alphas allowed on campus. It went without saying, of course, that degree options were extremely limited; none of the hard sciences were available for study and very few of the so-called soft sciences as well. Still, it was better than the nothing that had been in place in the past. Progress was progress, no matter how limited.

And of course it went without saying that all those changes – except for voting, of course – applied only to the upper class Omegas. The rest were essentially trapped in the same existence they'd endured for centuries. At the mercy of the government and the Alphas who were allowed access to them during their Heats. And, if an ugly rumor he'd heard recently was to be believed, even if their Heats were suppressed or they were off-cycle, whether they wanted it or not.

He'd given up entirely on the idea of helping Omegas not long after John Watson had decided to join the army as a way to pay for medical school. His mother's slow descent into madness had, rather than spurring him to action, thoroughly destroyed any ambitions in that direction. It was too late to help her; why bother helping anyone else, especially females in whom he had no emotional investment, many of whom would not welcome such interference in their lives? Even the intellectual challenge was too mundane, he told himself, to bother. Without a radical change in the foundation of the world itself – hell, even in the United States the Omegas were treated as second-class citizens at best, and they'd been allowed to vote in that country since the early 1980s – there was still nothing a single man or even a small but dedicated group of people could do.

Such groups existed, of course. Just as there were people who banded together to decry the inhumane treatment of house pets and whales and children in third-world countries, there were groups dedicated to trying to ease the plight of Omegas, in this country and others.

All were about as effective as a terrier yapping at the postman; unless the gate was opened, the postman simply ignored the yapping and went about his business. Unless someone in power – mostly Alphas, mostly males – was interested in the cause, nothing would ever change.

Even his brother Mycroft had proven a disappointment in that manner, as in so many other ways. He'd grown into a pompous git, more interested in retaining his own power than in helping the people of England. He claimed to have a "minor" post in the British government, but Sherlock knew that was so much hogwash. The man practically _was_ the British government, so adept he'd proven himself at stirring the right pots and bringing the right plans to boil – or leaving them simmering, to continue the metaphor, until the exact right time to remove them from the stove and watch complacently as they came about exactly as he wanted them to.

They hadn't spoken in years, not since the trying night they'd been forced to concede defeat in their attempts to keep their mother anchored by even the slightest bit to reality. The night they'd shouted at one another, throwing blame and casting accusations until they'd eventually stormed off to their rooms, two Alphas incapable of coming to an agreement about the one woman in their lives who meant anything to them – well, yes, Mycroft had Petra but as far as Sherlock could tell, his brother had about as much affection for her as he did the servants. At least he seemed to be a good father to his two sons, much better than their own father had managed even before his wife's infertility drove him to live elsewhere.

Mummy had the best of care now, but Sherlock and Mycroft were careful to avoid one another as much as possible, scheduling their visits so they never overlapped or coincided, even though Mycroft's family spent nearly as much time at the Holmes estate as they did in London.

Sherlock didn't mind seeing Petra and the two boys, but he didn't go out of his way to see them, either. Petra was a perfect Omega, always deferring to him as if he was her Bondmate, catering to his needs…it was sometimes annoying and sometimes rather comforting, although he hated to admit it. And the boys were fairly well behaved, or at least as well behaved as two pre-teens with boundless energy could be.

In fact, if he were ever to entertain the idea of having children himself one day, it would be because of his nephews. Patrick and Stewart were his secret vice, now that he'd given up drugs; he limited his visits precisely because of how attached he was to them. Sentiment again; how he loathed it. Still, it was good to know that the bloodline would continue, even if he weren't the one to carry it on.

Something buried very deeply inside his soul stirred and grumbled whenever he reaffirmed his private decision never to burden the world with his offspring, but he'd grown adept at ignoring it and continued to do so even as he waited to indulge in the actions that could lead to procreation if he were so inclined.

He was fully aware of the irony and ignored it as well. Children had no place in his life, just as a Bondmate had no place in his life.

Both of those beliefs were destined to come back to bit him on the arse far sooner than he could have predicted.

**oOo**

Molly sighed. Then, having nothing better to do, she sighed again. God, she was so freaking bored, it was driving her crazy. Being outed as an Omega and forced away from her family when she'd been so close to finishing her undergraduate degree had been frustrating and humiliating, but the life she was expected to live now…she didn't understand why more Omegas didn't slit their wrists and be done with it.

God knew she'd thought about it often enough over the past two years. Two years of not only being forced into seclusion from the outside world – her rights even more restricted than those of other Omegas, due to her and her family's attempt to pass her off as a Beta – but being forbidden to continue her studies, even though online courses were available, was sheer, unadulterated torture. The limited websites she was allowed to visit were little reprieve, given that they either dealt with childrearing, childbirth, homemaking – or porn. In case an Omega got the idea that their lives were meant to consist of anything else.

She hadn't even been given the temporary relief the other Omegas received from their Heat cycles, hadn't been offered up to some random Alpha to be Knotted even though her cycles were no longer suppressed. Additional punishment, she supposed, although no one would admit to it, for being on illegal suppressants from the age of fourteen until she'd been scooped up and carried away from her dorm at Oxford two days before her nineteenth birthday. Those quarterly occurrences were complete and utter agony; even masturbating only offered short-term relief, and then only at the beginning of the cycle. At its peak she was little more than an animal desperately whimpering for relief that came only after her body returned, reluctantly it always seemed, to normal.

Those days she was kept in a different room, far from the public areas of the House. Some days she wished they'd keep her there entirely; the sound of life going about its merry way outside her locked bedroom door was a torture all its own, especially when she caught the occasional scent of an Alpha male going by – to someone else's rooms.

Not that she was dying to just give herself over to the first Alpha she saw – excepting, of course, during her Heats, when she would gladly give herself to EVERY Alpha she saw – but it would be something different. At least her life would have a purpose, unlike now.

The only thing that kept her from actually taking her own life was the hope that things would someday change for the better. After all, her enforced seclusion couldn't last forever; Omegas were a valuable resource, weren't they? A scarce one at that; her research (before she'd been found out, of course) had shown that there were nowhere near enough Omegas available for the growing Alpha population.

She also knew enough from the limited facts she'd been able to find regarding Omega living conditions to recognize that she hadn't been plopped down into some low-level, government-run House of Heat as she'd expected to be her fate. No, this place was far too well run, too well protected and luxurious to be anything but a residence for Omegas destined to become the Bondmates or at least playthings of the upper crust Alphas who ruled the damned planet, always had and apparently always would.

She felt the familiar slow simmer of anger rising from deep within her gut, but did nothing to try and tamp it down. Dammit, she was a Human being; just because her biology put her into a very special subsection of humanity didn't make her any less of person. She still had a brain; so what if four times a year (now that they'd forcibly taken her off the suppressants) she basically turned into a rutting animal whose scent was designed to attract Alphas? Their own thinking processes basically turned to mush once they were exposed to an Omega in Heat's scent and pheromones, so why were they allowed to not only live whatever life they chose for themselves, but to actually be in charge of things?

Regular Humans, in her opinion, were the least volatile, the most reliable and steady, the least dependent on biology; why not give them a chance to run things? They couldn't do any worse than the Alphas had.

Then again, thinking back to some of the rather hurtful comments Molly had heard about Omegas over the years from people thinking she was a Beta (impossible to disguise her as a normal Human, difficult enough to make people think she was a Beta but the illegally-obtained suppressants had helped), maybe not. Maybe nothing would change unless Omegas themselves were somehow able to rise above their biology and demand to be heard.

She snorted at that fancy; fat chance of any such thing ever occurring. Even if the Omegas she'd been allowed to mingle with now and then had any such rebellious thoughts in their minds (doubtful), the rest of the world (with very few exceptions) seemed poised to slap them right back down again.

"It's too dangerous, Molly," she said aloud, voice high and mincing in a savage mimicry of the earnest young Beta therapist who'd been assigned to her upon her arrival. "History is full of cautionary tales about Omegas who caused riots by going into Heat when in public, or families slaughtering one another over Alpha sons raping Omega daughters, surely you wouldn't want to return to such savage times!"

Savage times sounded like a much more interesting life than the one she was currently leading; besides, the examples Dr. what's-her-name was citing were all from well before the Age of Enlightenment. And the medical advances in the 21st century had grown by leaps and bounds; surely that counted for something.

She even knew from personal experience that Omegas could go about in normal society without causing any of the problems that were so often cited as reasons to keep them separate from the rest of the world. Unfortunately that personal experience was also illegal; there hadn't even been a trial or anything, just her being awoken in the middle of the night to flashing lights and handcuffs and being injected with a sedative and waking up here. Wherever "here" was; she still had no clear idea of where she'd ended up, just that it was in a posh location just outside of London.

She'd figured out that her roommate must have realized she was actually an Omega and ratted her out to the Dean; the only other person she'd lived so closely with had been her Beta parents. Just her luck to have an especially keen-nosed Alpha bitch to bunk with. If she'd realized Irene harbored any suspicions she'd have packed her bags and run for home as quickly as she could, but the other girl had kept her thoughts to herself. But Molly had seen the smirk on the other girl's face as she was being dragged out of the dorm room, not quite unconscious. It had been a rather triumphant expression, and one that Molly would never forget.

It was the first time she'd ever felt hatred toward a specific person in her life. She didn't like the feeling, but since her emotions were pretty much the only thing she was allowed to own these days, she held onto it as carefully as she held on to her love for her parents.

She hadn't been allowed to see them after she'd been brought here, had no idea of what had happened to them no matter how much she begged to be told of their fates. Had they ended up in prison? She had no idea what kind of punishment would be meted out to people who hid their child's biological identity for as long as hers had.

A knock on her door brought her out of her thoughts and she hurried to her feet, carefully clasping her hands in front of her and lowering her eyes. Whoever it was, she'd been trained not to meet their eyes unless directly informed she was allowed to.

It wasn't time for another one of her "therapy" sessions (she preferred to call them what they were: brainwashing sessions), it wasn't time for a meal…maybe she was going to be allowed to mingle with some of the other Omegas again? Her heart sped up at the thought of contact with other people, people facing the same prejudices and problems she did, even if they didn't seem to feel as strongly about their situation as she did. The therapist had told Molly at their last session that such interactions were going to increase on a probationary basis, as long as she continued to "improve."

Right. "Improve." As if not wanting to be a slave to her biology was an illness to be overcome rather than a point of pride. Sometimes she hated that woman almost as much as she hated Irene fucking Adler.

Still. It would only hurt her chances of living some kind of semi-normal life if she continued to outwardly show her true feelings on the matter, so she'd learned to parrot the response she was expected to give and pretend that she understood completely why she was being treated like a criminal for doing nothing more than living her life the way everyone else was allowed to.

The door opened, and she kept her eyes firmly on her clasped hands as she deduced the other person's identity by the sound of their shoes on the polished hardwood floor. High heels, but not the nervous tap-tapping that heralded her therapist's arrival; that woman always wore high heels but walked in them like she expected to trip and fall at any moment. No, this was a pair of feet she didn't recognize, not at first. Not until she stole a glance from the corner of her eye and saw the expensive, vivid blue pair of Manolo Blahnik patent-leather shoes and sheer silk stockings covering the legs of…

"Molly. Look at me."

She looked up slowly, feeling her excited hearbeats transform into panicky thumps. It was Madame LeFoy, the woman who ran this luxurious hell-hole. The Warden, Molly secretly termed the Frenchwoman, although her official title was simply "Manager."

"Madame LeFoy," she acknowledged, doing her best to keep her voice even and not stutter the way she tended to do when she was nervous. She hadn't seen the other woman in close to a year, since her last "evaluation", the one where her therapist recommended that Molly continue to be kept from close contact with other Omegas as her unorthodox views might prove "bothersome" to the other women who resided here.

She refrained from questioning the older woman, however, knowing from painful past experience that Madame was capable of some very subtle cruelties, none of which Molly knew to be sanctioned by law. However, she'd quickly discovered that Madame was a law unto herself in this particular House, another reason she'd learned to at least outwardly bow to the conventions and present herself as an unBonded Omega was supposed to.

"We have an unusual situation on our hands, Molly," she said in her crisp, barely accented English. "Someone has requested a mature but untried Omega."

Molly felt her mouth go dry as her fear ratcheted itself up a notch. "Untried" meant "Virgin" which she certainly was…but it also meant she was possibly about to find herself shoved into a room with some sweaty, overheated Alpha male with an excess of hormones and a need to dominate in the most primal manner possible. The ones who specified virgins usually were. She'd long believed it a good thing that she'd escaped being Knotted as a teenager, but now...

"I thought I was going to be…I mean, don't I have to right to refuse?" she asked desperately. "My therapist said…"

Madame raised a hand and waved it dismissively. "What Dr. Jamison has to say is irrelevant. It's clear to me and has been all along that you will never fit the mold of a properly submissive Omega, Molly. We received you far too late, thanks to your parents' meddling." Disapproval was clear in her cold voice and the hardened expression on her face. "The only reason you were accepted here at all was because you were clearly quite intelligent, anomalously so for an Omega, and intelligence – to a certain extent – is valuable to some of our clients who require a Bondmate that actually thinks for herself."

It was just as clear that Madame herself found such things unnecessary, and if Molly's intellect was what had landed her here, then why had she spent the last two years with no reading materials but revolting romance novels and the occasional child care guide?

She almost blurted that very question out, but kept her mouth shut as Madame gave her a sharp, unfriendly glance. "Your punishment period expired six months ago," she revealed, smiling slightly – a cold smile, verging on cruel – as Molly started in surprise. "However, we both know you will never make a proper Bondmate, Molly. Your parents ruined your future by deluding you into believing you could live your life outside of society's accepted parameters." She sneered as she added: "All you're good for now is to be fucked whenever an Alpha decides he wants you. After this first assignation, you'll be transferred to a different facility. One more suited to your proclivities."

Molly was stunned. Yes, she'd known she was being punished, but she'd still believed she held some kind of value or she'd never have been brought here in the first place. This time, the questions would not stay contained; she'd already been told she was sentenced to a lifetime of sexual servitude, what did it matter if Madame became angry at her? "Then why bring me here in the first place?" she demanded, her hands balling into fists at her side as she turned so she and the older woman were directly facing one another. "Why put me through two years of mind-numbing boredom, forcing me to go through my Heats with no relief, if you were just going to throw me out to a life of forced prostitution in the end?"

Madame's expression became even colder, if possible. "Do not shout at me, Molly Hooper," she hissed, eyes flashing dangerously. "You forget your place – in fact, you constantly forget your place, which is why you can no longer be housed here. You were brought here because a certain benefactor – one who found his own Bondmate here and has considerable influence with the British government – felt that you might be suited for a better life than you would face if you were simply given over to a lesser House. But he has recently been promoted to a position of greater importance, and is no longer as involved in our internal affairs as he once was. Leaving you, I'm afraid, far down on his list of priorities. If he even remembers he had you sent here at all," she added spitefully.

Now Molly was really confused – confused and angry and recklessly unafraid of any consequences she might face as her temper, long held in check, finally erupted. "You're saying someone had me placed here, and now you've decided to get rid of me just because he's too busy to check in on me anymore? You bitch!"

_Thwack!_ Molly's cheek burned at the force of the slap Madame landed on her, and that was the straw. The one that broke the camel's back, that destroyed Molly's last vestige of control. She screamed and launched herself at the other woman, hands clawing for her face as they collapsed to the floor.

**oOo**

Sherlock was being led down the hall to his appointment – a sleek young woman whom he'd Knotted once before, Sabrina or Sabine, something like that – when the sound of two women shrieking from behind the door he was about to pass caught his attention. Omegas in the middle of a Heat cycle often screamed, but there were definitely two voices involved, both female, and the definite sound of a physical altercation coming from behind that closed door.

His escort, a young woman he hadn't seen before, hesitated as if unsure how to proceed, so he took the decision out of her hands by yanking open the door in question and observing the situation for himself.

"Oh, Mr. Holmes, you're not allowed…" she started to protest, but he ignored her completely as he realized what sort of a situation he'd stumbled into.

Madame LeFoy, the manageress, was rolling around on the floor, trying to fight off the attack of an enraged young Omega. Both women were screaming at the top of their lungs, and Madame, if he didn't intervene, seemed likely to lose large swathes of her hair, if not an eye, judging by the bloodthirsty look on the Omega's face as she clawed at her.

It was such an unexpected sight – who'd ever heard of an Omega not in Heat losing their temper and attacking another person, especially an Alpha? – that it took him a few seconds to decide on the proper course of action. His escort had peered over his shoulder and taken off at a run, presumably to fetch security; he heard other doors opening as curious Omegas poked their heads out of their rooms to see what was going on, but ignored everything but the two women locked in combat in front of him.

He stepped fully into the room and closed the door behind him. It locked only from the outside, he'd already noted, which meant this woman was a special case. However, she hadn't been completely isolated from the outside world, or else her rooms would lie down a different corridor than this one. She was no new arrival; the room had been occupied for at least a year, possibly two. She wasn't in Heat, no scent of that on the air, just enraged Omega and frightened Alpha, a combination of scents he'd never expected to be subjected to.

Time to intervene. The Omega was on top, had raised an arm and was in the process of striking Madame when he pounced, pulling her up to her feet and trapping her arms by her side as he encircled her body with his own arms. "Let me go!" she screamed, fighting him; another first, an amazing first for an Omega to continue to fight against an Alpha male who was clearly superior to her physically.

Madame had used the respite to bring herself to her knees and from there to her feet, staggering just a little as she slid her foot back into the shoe that had been knocked off her at some point during the altercation. She glared at the woman Sherlock held in his arms, wiping at the blood dripping down her cheek from the set of scratches the Omega had given her. "Thank you, Mr. Holmes," she said, her voice a ragged echo of its normally cultured tones. "Security will take her off your hands shortly."

The sound of heavy feet pounding up the corridor confirmed her words, but he refused to release his hold on the still-struggling girl even as the door was flung open. Keeping his eyes on Madame, he said: "What did you do to provoke her into such a show of temper, Madame? Because we both know that Omegas aren't normally prone to this kind of behavior."

He kept his voice at a normal tone, and gradually the woman's shrieks and demands to be let go faded into hiccupping sobs. She went limp all of a sudden, but he'd been waiting for just such a moment and successfully kept her from collapsing to the floor, catching her in his grip and swinging her up into his arms, her head coming to rest on his shoulder as she passed into unconsciousness.

When the guard – a Beta – tried to take her from him however, he growled and backed up a step, swinging her away from the man's reaching arms. He looked to Madame LeFoy for direction, but Sherlock interrupted her before she could say anything. "Leave us, Madame. I wish to speak to this young woman when she regains consciousness, and I doubt very much I'll be able to do so if you and your thug remain in the room."

Madame's face flushed an ugly shade of red; interesting, she never allowed herself to be anything but completely professional in a client's presence. Presumably this altercation had rattled her deeply enough that she thought she could countermand a superior Alpha's orders. Which was precisely what he'd done, he realized; he'd ordered her to leave, when this was her House and he was, indeed, only a client. One who'd never expressed an interest in finding a Bondmate in spite of the fact that that was what this house specialized in.

He glanced down at the unconscious woman in his arms; what was it about her that had aroused such a fierce protectiveness in him? True, he'd never encountered such an unorthodox situation before, but he recognized that the correct thing to do – what any other Alpha was likely do under the same circumstances – was to surrender the Omega to the guard, allow Madame to deal with her as she saw fit and no doubt had experience in doing, and allow himself to continue on with his own, entirely unconnected business.

Sherlock Holmes, however, had always prided himself on not necessarily doing what society deemed "correct," just as he'd always prided himself on not being the typical Alpha male. Yes, he'd been forced to acknowledge a certain obligation to his biological make-up, but his mind was still firmly in charge of his body nine-tenths of the time.

Including this time. There was something very intriguing about the woman he was holding so effortlessly in his arms – she couldn't weigh more than 110 pounds if that – and the situation he'd inadvertently walked into.

A situation, he deduced with no effort at all, that Madame LeFoy would much rather he hadn't witnessed.

"Mr. Holmes," she said, her smooth voice an attempt to belie her angry, red face. "I don't think you understand what 'as 'appened here." Her aitches were disappearing, another sign of her extreme agitation. "Miss Hooper is a criminal..."

"An Omega criminal?" he cut in, eyebrow raised as his curiosity was further piqued. If she'd thought to put him off by those words, she was sorely mistaken. "How intriguing. I insist on speaking to her alone, Madame. Unless you're concerned for my safety? Is she a murderer of some sort? A dangerous martial arts expert? Poisonous fingernails, perhaps?"

His sarcasm was not lost on her; bowing to the inevitable, Madame snapped at the guard to leave the room...but to remain outside the door. "Mr. Holmes, you may speak to her but when you are finished, I must insist that you leave...and perhaps find another House better suited to your needs. Henderson will let you out when you have finished." Then she turned crisply on her heel and exited the room, closing the door firmly behind her. And locking it.

Sherlock wasted no time in laying "Miss Hooper" on her bed, arranging her comfortably before dragging the room's single chair over to her side. He found a plastic cup in the bathroom, still in a protective paper seal as if this were a hotel instead of a poorly-disguised bordello, unwrapped it and filled it two-thirds of the way with cold water. He returned to the bedroom, placed it on the bedside table, and waited.

**oOo**

Molly groaned and blinked her eyes. God, her head hurt; what had happened...Oh. God. She'd attacked the Manager – Warden LeFoy, she mentally corrected herself – and then someone had come into the room and grabbed her...

She sat up and stared as a deep baritone voice broke into her confused and troubled thoughts. "Do be careful, Miss Hooper. You're a bit banged up and I imagine your head is pounding."

There was a man sitting by her bed – on her chair. He was holding a cup of water in one hand and two small white pills in the palm of the other. Both hands were extended in her direction, and she took the proffered water and (she hoped) paracetamol automatically, while her eyes studied him.

Was this the man she'd been promised to, the Alpha who wanted an untried Omega? A "mature" untried Omega?

Somehow she didn't think so, and that helped her to relax a bit as she swallowed the pills he'd given her and drank thirstily from the cup of cool water. When she'd drained it he extended his hand again; she gave it to him, watching incredulously as he rose to his feet – gracefully, he seemed to move with an innate grace that she envied – and headed for her small bathroom. She heard the water running and grew even more incredulous. An Alpha, catering to an Omega who wasn't deep in Heat or recovering from same? What crazy world had she woken up in? Her eyes darted around the room, assessing; no, it was her room, all right, the one she occupied when not in a Heat cycle. The only sign of the fight she'd had with Warden LeFoy was the rumpled-up area rug, and a few drops of blood. Not hers, she noted with satisfaction as she recalled scratching the other woman's face.

She studied her fingernails, quickly lowering them when she heard the sound of footsteps approaching from the bathroom. The mystery Alpha was back; he silently handed her the cup of water, then folded himself into her chair, crossing one leg over his knee, resting his forearms on the arms of the chair and holding his hands in front of his face, steepling his fingers and studying her over their tips. "Madame LeFoy informs me you are a criminal," he said, speaking without preamble. "As you are an Omega, and in spite of the physical altercation I walked in on earlier, I deduce you attempted to hide your status somehow, no doubt through the application of illegally-obtained Heat suppressants and Beta-brand toiletries, to further mask your natural scent."

He sniffed delicately before adding: "Which appears to be a combination of lilac and honey with just a trace of vinegar. Intriguing."

She stared at him, not bothering with any of her painfully-learned training. She'd never met anyone quite like him, even in their limited exposure to one another, of that she was quite certain. He was pure Alpha; his own scent was overlain with no colognes or aftershaves, which meant all she could smell was him. Pure, musky male, hints of sandalwood and something smoky that made her mouth water.

Damn, it figured the first Alpha she'd ever me who actually made her glad to be an Omega would be some kind of interrogator or enforcer for Warden Bitch-face.

Something of her feelings must have shown on her face, because he leaned forward with a slight frown and said: "I am not an employee of the House, Miss Hooper. Nor am I directly involved in law enforcement. You may rest assured that I am not here to punish you or arrest you – although to be honest," he added with a sudden smile that utterly charmed her, "it would be most stimulating to be the first person to ever bring an Omega to New Scotland Yard for questioning."

She laughed at that, actually laughed with true humor for the first time years, then crossed her legs under her in a most unladylike fashion and continued her unabashed staring at him. "You figured out what kind of a criminal I am, and defined my scent as well as my own parents could have," she said after a moment spent taking in the physical details of his appearance and filing them away for future deducing of her own. "What else can you tell me about myself? Or do you just want me to fill in the blanks on my own?"

"You've not been in contact with your parents since your arrival here," he replied promptly, seeming to study her as closely as she was examining him. "You hesitated just the slightest bit when you said 'my own parents,'" he added by way of explanation. "Your expression, which had lightened considerably since my little attempt at humor, became quite a bit sadder, but not so sad as to indicate that they were no longer alive."

"I don't even know that much," she admitted quietly, looking down for the first time since waking up to this surreal situation in which she found herself. "They don't give me access to news sites, and no one's ever told me what happened to them after I was brought here."

"In handcuffs," he pronounced, then added at her shocked look: "You rubbed your wrists as you said that, as if in memory of being restrained."

"I was woken up in the middle of the night, dragged out of bed, handcuffed and injected with something that knocked me out," she confirmed, amazed that he read so much out of such little evidence.

He didn't say anything to that, simply whipped out his mobile and began typing furiously away. After a few minutes in which he alternated between typing and scowling down at the screen, Molly continued where she'd left off. "My dorm mate turned me in, I'm sure of it."

That brought his attention squarely back to her. His eyebrow raised in an expression of surprise. "You were at university?"

She nodded. "Yeah. Just about to apply to medical school." As his expression turned from surprise to astonishment, she jutted her chin out. "What, is it so shocking that an Omega might not only want to be a doctor, but be intellectually capable of doing so? I'm just as smart as anyone, whoever-you-are," she added fiercely, leaning forward and unconsciously clenching her fists at her sides. "Just because most Omegas are undereducated doesn't mean they're incapable of learning more than how to read and write and make babies."

The Alpha then did the most extraordinary thing; he leaned back and laughed. A long, satisfied laugh. When he finally stopped, he was wiping tears from the corners of his eyes while Molly eyed him warily. "That, Miss Hooper, is something I have been waiting to hear for a very long time now. Even my own mother – an exceptional woman in many ways before she lost my father – would never defend her own kind so strongly. Well spoken, Miss Hooper. Well spoken."

"Who are you?" she finally thought to ask as he fell silent and returned to studying her, although it seemed a bit more closely this time.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes," he said, still grinning. "And I do believe you are going to fit into my life quite nicely."

**oOo**

She seemed truly shocked by his words, as if they'd been the last thing she'd been expecting to hear. Good; he was pleased to have found someone who could put him off-balance, but much preferred to be the one doing the startling and amazing.

He'd come to this House to satisfy a mere physical need, and had found instead a woman – an Omega, at that – worthy of his lasting attention. An Omega who aspired to not only a higher education, but one of the hard sciences to boot. An Omega doctor; what would the world be like if she were ever allowed to fulfill such an ambition?

He was determined to do his best to help her in that endeavor. Perhaps one man couldn't change the system, but one man could certainly help one woman overcome her biology and society's prejudicial expectations in order to achieve such a lofty goal. Practically speaking, however, he understood – and she would, too, once he'd spelled it out for her – that there was only one way he would be able to take her with him.

They would have to Bond. Right now, today, before Madame LeFoy concocted whatever punishment she had in mind for Miss Hooper's rebellious actions against her. Which reminded him... "Why were you and Madame fighting?" he asked before she could question him on in his intentions. He held up a finger to indicate she should wait, however, as his mobile gave a soft "ping". He squinted down at it, then turned his eyes back to meet hers, his expression serious. "When you started describing what had happened to you, I did some research. Your case was rather famous, since your parents kept your status so well hidden for so long, Molly."

**oOo**

She felt a shiver of pleasure at hearing him use her given name for the first time, but remained silent as he continued: "You are simply listed as being turned over for the proper 'training,'" his lip curled in an expression of disdain easily matched by his tone as he said that word. "Your parents were sentenced to five years in prison for fraud and," he frowned and shook his head before looking at her again, "child abuse."

She stared at him incredulously. "Child abuse? That's insane! My parents loved me, they wanted the best for me, that's why they hid my status, so I wouldn't have to go through Heats and be forced into a life they knew I would have hated!" Tears sprang into her eyes, the first tears she'd shed in over a year, ever since she'd given up on ever hearing from her parents again. She'd resigned herself to never knowing what happened to them, or at best only finding out long after any punishment they'd been given had already ended. Hiding the status of an Omega was usually treated as a misdemeanor rather than a felony crime; she'd expected to hear that they'd been heavily fined or even jailed for up to eighteen months, but the child abuse angle had increased their punishment to a point she'd never anticipated.

She was so upset at this revelation that her questions for Sherlock were completely forgotten, at least until he spoke again. "Molly – may I call you Molly?" he interrupted himself to ask. She nodded dumbly, wiping absently at the tears still falling from her eyes. He gained her complete attention by reaching out and taking her hands in his own.

She felt a jolt of electricity pass between them, widening her eyes as how completely perfect his hands felt on hers. He felt something too, she was sure of it as her wide-eyed stare met his. His eyes, a grayish blue when he'd first started speaking to her, seemed to have darkened into pure gray – no, she realized. It was his pupils, they'd nearly devoured the irises, leaving nothing but slender rims of color around the dark centers. Her own eyes, she supposed, must look much the same, only harder to see the difference with her brown irises. If he even noticed the color of her eyes...

She was babbling. Mentally babbling, but babbling nonetheless. She took a deep, calming breath, but kept her fingers firmly wrapped around those of the Alpha – Sherlock, his name was Sherlock – sitting across from her. "Wh – what did you say?" she finally managed to ask when he seemed as dumbstruck as she.

He gave a little shake, cleared his throat and looked thoroughly uncomfortable. She found her eyes focused on his lips as he parted them; she'd never seen such perfect Cupid's bows in her life. And his throat, so long and white and elegant; how had she missed the perfect column of whiteness rising above the collar of his deep blue dress shirt...

When he finally spoke, his voice seemed a shade deeper, huskier, as if the throat-clearing had done him no good whatsoever. "I asked if I could call you Molly," he replied, his eyes roaming over her features once again, but this time with an element of heat that had been decidedly missing before.

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, feeling her fingers clench as he made to withdraw his hands from hers. He frowned, a slight frown, one she might have missed if she hadn't been staring at him so intently, then eased his face into a neutral expression as he continued with whatever he'd been about to say to her before the moment had become so fraught with possibility. "Molly, you do realize there's only one solution to your current situation. No matter how much time Madame LeFoy..."

"The Warden," Molly found herself muttering, then blushed in embarrassment at having uttered her disparaging term for Madame aloud.

He blinked at her, then offered a wry grin. "The Warden," he agreed. "Sadly that term may be more apropos than you thought. Although I doubt she'll press charges against you – and yes, I understand she provoked you somehow," he added, raising an imperious had to forestall the objection she was definitely about to voice, "still, the point being, you are an Omega, and she is in charge of your ultimate disposal. Even if I offer to pay the fee and fill out the appropriate paperwork for you to be released into my care, I doubt she would accept it without extra arm-twisting by my brother." His face morphed into a sour twist. "And I'm afraid my brother is unlikely to want to do me any favors at the moment. Which leaves us only one alternative if I'm to free you from whatever punishment Warden LeFoy chooses to mete out."

"She's going to let some Alpha Knot me and then send me off to one of the lower-class Houses," Molly blurted out, anxious that Sherlock understand exactly what fate awaited her if he didn't take her away with him. She dropped her eyes to their joined hands and added in a low voice: "I've never...it would be my first time."

**oOo**

Sherlock was once again shocked by the woman sitting across from him, her hands so desperately clinging to his. The shock of electricity that had passed between them when he first touched her had been pushed from his mind by sheer force of will as he attempted to focus on the matter at hand; he still hadn't completely outlined the mad plan that had sprung to mind, but now, to hear this... "You mean you've never had sex with an Alpha?" he asked, suddenly desperate to hear that she wasn't saying what he thought she was saying.

She shook her head, another one of those lovely blushes she'd presented him with earlier staining her cheeks. "I mean I've never...not ever," she said, clarifying without actually saying the words. "It seemed too risky, even if I only did it with normal Humans or Betas. Even with suppressants Omegas have been known to go into spontaneous Heat, although I've never believed it was as frequently as the news and research journals would have us believe." She offered up a wry grin as she demonstrated yet again why she was the most extraordinary Omega Sherlock had ever met. "I couldn't take that risk, couldn't chance what my parents had sacrificed for me just for – well, for a fleeting moment's pleasure," she concluded, somewhat gloomily.

Dear. God. She was a virgin. A twenty-one-year-old Omega virgin. He resolved to give up on being surprised by her; she'd already surprised him more in one hour's conversation than he'd been in the past year. Possibly the past two years, if one discounted the many ways his young nephews could catch him off guard simply because of their youth and relative innocence.

Well. It made no difference; if anything, it strengthened his resolve. And not just because his inner Alpha was howling at the thought of being her first, but because the plans Madame – no, Warden really was the most apt title for the vile woman – Warden LeFoy had already laid out for Molly. "We have to Bond," he announced quickly, before they could once again get off topic.

That was another thing that intrigued him about Molly, how easily she managed to distract him from his own purpose and desire. Oh, that was the wrong word to use; just thinking caused a sudden physiological reaction in the area of his crotch as his cock began to harden. Good lord, it was like being a teenager all over again, and the bloody woman wasn't even in Heat!

She was gaping at him, eyes fortunately staring directly into his, giving him time to discreetly adjust his jacket to cover the evidence, so to speak. "Yes, you heard me correctly," he said, his voice coming out a shade more irritably than he'd intended. "I said Bond. Otherwise she'll promise me the moon and ship you off to your fate as soon as the door closes behind me. Especially if she already has someone in mind to give you to," he added darkly.

**oOo**

Lifebonding. Pairbonding. Just plain Bonding. Whatever you called it, it was what this man she'd only just met was offering to her as an alternative to the life she'd been threatened with. And whatever else she believed, she knew with absolute certainty that Warden LeFoy fully intended to make good on her threats.

What was worse was knowing that the woman was fully within her rights to do so, and that even if Sherlock called the police right now, the only way he would be allowed to take Molly with him, out of the "Omega Sanctuary" as it was officially designated, would be if he could prove that they'd already Bonded.

"That's a very...it's permanent, a Lifebond," she felt constrained to point out while her mind ran in frantic circles, trying to find some other alternative even as she knew there weren't any. "You don't even know me, why would you offer to do that for me?"

She really was bewildered. She knew the catalogue of her own faults, thank you very much, and they were really quite extensive, especially when balanced against the few items she could list as her assets. She'd been told, for example, that her hair was quite pretty, which was why she kept it long, but as far as she was concerned her mouth was far too small and her breasts were barely adequate to identify her as female. Her legs weren't very long, either, and she couldn't tan no matter how carefully she applied the sunscreen, she had too many freckles...

"Stop it," Sherlock ordered crossly. She started and returned to staring at him; how had he known what she was thinking? Or that she was thinking anything at all? "Whatever defects you feel you have, physical or mental, make no difference to me. I'm offering to help you for multiple reasons; suffice it to say, you interest me, and your situation is intolerable to anyone who, like ourselves, believes the current status Omegas hold in our society to be willfully backward and short-sighted at best."

That did it. That statement was the only thing she needed to hear from him to convince her that he was sincere, that this wasn't some bizarre attempt to lure her into a worse situation than the one she currently faced. She might not know Sherlock Holmes from Adam, but she knew Warden Bitch-face. The decision, in the end, was remarkably easy to make.

She looked him straight in the eyes, smiled the bravest smile she could manage, squared her shoulders and tipped her head back, exposing her throat to him in clear invitation.

**oOo**

Sherlock was on the bed in a shot, his lips and teeth against the soft, inviting skin of her throat, his hands pulling her body tightly against his. Pairbonding wasn't some mystical, mysterious joining of two souls the way poets and far too many ignorant Normals and Betas imagined it; it was a simple matter of biology, like so much else was. The combination of Alpha and Omega, blood and saliva. All it took was one deep bite, the Alpha male taking the Omega female's blood into his body even as his saliva entered her bloodstream, and the deed was done. Yes, basic biological compatibility helped speed up the process, but any Alpha could Bond with any Omega. His parents were proof of that; Mycroft and Petra were even proof of that, no matter how carefully she'd been selected from whatever field of candidates had been presented to his brother once he announced his decision to seek a Lifemate.

This, he knew, was different. Neither had been selected for the other, no genetic screening had been done; he had no idea of Molly's fertility cycle or what a shared Heat would be like...but he found himself quite looking forward to finding out. And judging by the soft moans and whines issuing from her mouth as he stroked her body and nipped and sucked at her throat, so did she.

A pity there wasn't time for the two of them to actually seal the deal sexually, as it were; his mental countdown to how much time Warden LeFoy would allow them was just about up. If he'd timed it correctly in his mind, she should be walking in on them, demanding that he leave – in an urbane, sophisticated and once again mostly unaccented manner – within the next five minutes. She would have taken the time to adjust her appearance, although he found it within him to feel a sort of savage glee at the fact that there would be very little she could do about the line of scratches down her left cheek. But her hair would be perfect and her clothing unmussed; her poise would have returned as well as her confidence and he would be dismissed.

He almost pitied her, knowing that all her careful plans and grooming were about to be shown for naught.

Almost. The thought of giving Molly over to some unknown Alpha to be pawed and slobbered over for the simple desire to strip her of her virginity made his blood boil.

That thought brought a corresponding roughness to his movements that made Molly gasp, but her hands were grasping his shoulders as if she never planned to release him, and the word she moaned out was: "Yes."

**oOo**

"Warden" LeFoy's arrival was almost to the minute exactly when and how Sherlock had predicted. He and Molly were sitting side by side on the bed, hands clasped as the door slammed open and LeFoy marched into the room, slowing down only as she was met by two pairs of expectant eyes.

She glared at Molly suspiciously before turning her gaze on Sherlock. He allowed her to feel as if she were in control of the situation by remaining seated, unfazed by the prospect of whatever dominance game she was about to employ. Even if she went off script, he anticipated every single thing she might do to try and retain control of the situation.

"Mr. Holmes, I'm sorry to interrupt," she began, only to be interrupted in turn by the very man she was addressing.

"No, Madame LeFoy, I don't believe you are," he said, rising smoothly to his feet and pulling Molly along with him. "However, what you do or don't want means nothing to me. Molly and I are leaving."

Oh, that got her back up; she bared her teeth at him before she caught herself, smoothing her expression into one of calm professionalism. Only a trained eye – or the gaze of someone who felt a great deal of animosity toward her, such as Molly clearly did and well deserved to – would catch the slight tick in her cheek as she spoke. "I'm very sorry, Mr. Holmes, but unless you've filled out the proper paperwork requesting Miss Hooper to be transferred to your care – along with the appropriate fees and chargers, of course – as well as filing a Statement of Intent with the appropriate government offices, I'm afraid that's impossible."

"Not if we've Bonded," Sherlock replied, taking the four steps necessary to bring himself and Molly directly in front of LeFoy, stopping less than a foot away and purposefully invading her personal space in a way designed to make her either challenge him or give way.

His words, however, were more than enough to shock her into immobility. "That's...you haven't," she gasped out in protest, but Molly eased down the collar of her shirt and offered her a smug smile as she silently invited the other woman to examine the wound on her throat.

The teethmarks were clear and precise, the blood still seeping out of the wound. In case there was any question, Sherlock bared his teeth at LeFoy, Molly's blood still staining the inside of his mouth.

She backed away, her face a mask of fury, but knowing there was nothing she could do to stop them short of holding them at gunpoint. "I'll be sure to file the proper paperwork in the morning," Sherlock shot over his shoulder as he took Molly's hand more firmly in his and skirted around the immobile form of her adversary. A woman who had clearly underestimated both of them. He paused on the threshhold of the room, looking a Molly and asking: "Is there anything you wish to bring with you? One of those insipid romance novels, perhaps? Some of the ghastly clothes they've been forcing you to wear?"

She shook her head. He already knew that none of the items in the room had belonged to her before her incarceration, and that she wanted nothing to remind her of her time here.

He shot a nasty grin over his shoulder as they left, making sure to catch LeFoy's eyes as he did so.

The glower she sent after him promised nothing good.

_Let her seethe, _he told himself complacently. _There's not a damned thing she can do about it._

**oOo**

Molly could hardly believe it as Sherlock's warm hand continued to clasp hers, tugging her along at a brisk pace as they left the room that had been her prison for two years. Then they were exiting the private area where the Omegas lived and entering the sitting area where clients waited; after that they were walking past the front desk where an open-mouthed Beta receptionist watched them leave.

And after that? Molly could hardly believe it, but they were outside. Not in the walled gardens of the House, where she'd only occasionally been allowed to visit. Not the inner courtyard of Madame's private wing, where she'd been forced to stand and listen as her therapist rattled off the reasons she believed Molly wasn't ready to join the House's general population, but outside-outside. Standing with the oversized wooden doors behind her, firmly shut.

Sherlock's hand tugging at hers pulled her back into the moment; she could stand and bask in her relative freedom once they were...wherever they were going, actually. Which could be anywhere. She laughed, giddy with the feeling of freedom, however limited. She was still an Omega, but no longer at the whim of Madame or any other Alpha.

She belonged to one Alpha, who had willingly Lifebonded with her just to keep her from suffering a minute longer than she had to. No matter what their future held, she would always remember what he'd done for her with more than gratitude.

It was a debt that could never be repaid, but she vowed then and there to be the best Lifemate he could ever ask for.

If she'd known then exactly how difficult and stubborn a man Sherlock Holmes could be, what an unusual life he lead, she might have hesitated to make such a vow. Or perhaps not; she wasn't exactly an ordinary Omega, which made them uniquely suited for one another, even if they weren't entirely aware of that fact just yet.

* * *

_A/N: Sexy times to follow but not quite as quickly. Either a Part 2 to this story or a brand new story, not sure yet which it will be. But there WILL be a payoff, promise!_


	4. Inferno: Homecoming

_A/N: Ok, here comes the next part of the story. Time to bring Molly to 221B Baker Street!_

* * *

**Part Two: Inferno - Homecoming**

Sherlock wasn't stupid enough to bring Molly to the Holmes family estate, although it was closer than his flat in London. The one he currently shared with John Watson...who would be more than a bit disconcerted by the outcome of Sherlock's latest visit to the House of Heat he'd favored up to now.

He stole a glance at Molly as she sat next to him in the passenger seat of his rented car. Her face was pressed to the half-open window as she drank in the sights and smells of the world she'd been denied for far too long, and through no real fault of her own. Watching her enjoy herself warmed a part of himself he hadn't realized had long ago frosted over with ice; the wall he'd built around his heart, the one his friends John and Greg had started to tear down and his landlady had always ignored, was rapidly disintegrating and all because of the petite woman sitting next to him.

Feeling his eyes upon her – or perhaps feeling the first stirrings of the emotional bond that would connect them for the rest of their lives – she turned and offered him a shy smile. He returned it with a great deal more confidence, although that wasn't necessarily what he was feeling at the moment.

He hoped the Bond would take a while to fully impact the two of them, not only because he'd always valued his privacy, but also because he was feeling a twinge of uneasiness at the thought of laying himself bare to another person in so intimate a fashion. And not just the emotional Bond, but the idea of being sexually involved with someone on more than just a casual basis was almost as terrifying. Not that he would ever admit to feeling fear, of course, but in future no matter what face he put on, Molly would always be able to see through it to the man behind the mask.

Still, in spite of the sense of trepidation he was currently feeling, he knew he would do it all over again if given the chance. Molly deserved much more than the life she'd been condemned to before he found her. With that in mind, he returned his eyes to the road but cleared his throat before announcing: "We will, of course, appeal your parents' convictions. They've already spent far more time in jail than they should have. In spite of the personal differences my brother and I might have, his work as a 'minor' member of the British government should be of use to us in this matter. And he will no doubt be convinced to help if I threaten to make our new family relationship public," he added, unable to resist the sneer that had entered his voice.

He and Mycroft had been as close as two brothers with seven years' difference between them could be during their childhoods, but their temperaments had proven to be too volatile for that closeness to continue into adulthood. Oh, they still cared for one another, he supposed, but at this point Mycroft seemed to care more for his career than just about anything besides his sons.

"Thank you." Those softly spoken words were the first ones Molly had uttered since leaving the facility behind. He could hardly begrudge her her silence, since he was more than prone to them himself – to the point where John frequently felt obligated to question the usability of his vocal chords – but it was nice to hear her voice, he found.

Nice. How unsettling to think of himself as appreciating something "nice". It was far too mundane, too boringly normal, but then he thought about their unorthodox "courtship" and his mental equilibrium was reestablished.

The rest of the ride passed in a combination of periods of silence punctuated by questions on Molly's part and answers on his. Where were they going. Where did he live. What did he do for a living. Would his friends understand why they'd Lifebonded after just meeting. Would she have to worry about "Warden" LeFoy exacting some sort of Machiavellian revenge on them.

That last question had caused Sherlock to let out a bark of laughter, quickly repressed as he realized Molly wasn't trying to be humorous. "Even if she were so inclined to repay the humiliation she had heaped on her today at the hands of one of her Omegas," he replied after schooling his features into something closer to seriousness, "what exactly do you think she would do? We're Lifebonded, and I doubt her thirst for revenge will go so far as death threats or kidnapping. No, any attempt to sabotage us in the press or elsewhere will ultimately misfire. And if it didn't," he added with a feral gleam in his eyes, "I'm sure something showing her for the manipulative, vindictive bitch that she really is could easily come to light."

"But only if she starts it," Molly remonstrated, much to his surprise. "I mean it, Sherlock. I know I have no right to tell you what to do..."

"You're my Bondmate, Molly," he interrupted testily. "You can tell me whatever you feel like telling me, including to piss off if I cross over any boundaries you feel sacrosanct."

"O-okay," she replied, subsiding into silence as she appeared to mull over his words. When she spoke again, it was in a more determined tone of voice as she took up the thread of their earlier conversation. "But I really mean it; I don't want you to go after her unless she starts something first. That place...yeah, it was a prison to me but the other women there...they seemed to really like it. If someone else were put in charge, or if they were moved...things might not be as nice for them."

So. His Bondmate wasn't just an independent woman trying to forge a life for herself against all odds; she was also something of a crusader for other members of her oppressed class. Good. It stirred the long-slumbering embers of his earlier passions...as well as more recent, much earthier passions.

She was, in spite of her unusual life and flashes of understandable temper, a perfect Omega; giving and loving. The exact opposite of him, which was, from what he understood, exactly as it should be. They appeared to have the makings of an ideal pairing; the question was, would he drive her away once she'd been exposed to more sides of him than had been revealed to her so far?

Would she come willingly to his bed, and not just out of gratitude? Judging by her reaction to him when they'd first touched and the sharp tang of desire he'd roused in her during the Bonding, that question was undoubtedly going to be "yes." It was just a question of when. Yes, they'd Bonded, but that didn't necessarily mean she would be ready for him to take her virginity anytime soon.

They reached the outskirts of London just as the sun was setting, an apt metaphor for his troublesome thoughts, and he diverted from Baker Street just long enough to bring her to a few shops and pick up some necessities.

She appeared to both revel in and fear the simple freedom to pick out clothes that she liked, to purchase such small things as a toothbrush and comb and feminine items. A quick stop at a chemist's for various other necessities, including an oversized square bandage for her throat and some antiseptic cream. He kept it to a minimum, however, and not just because it was late in the evening.

He knew all too well how overwhelming contact with others could be, especially if it had been some time since such contact had been allowed. And she was still an Omega, one who had never been out in the world when not in disguise. There were a great many things she was going to have to get used to.

One thing he was determined to do for her, however; he would find a way for her to legally achieve her degree in spite of her status as his Bondmate. Yes, that woman had become a teacher in spite of being an Omega, but only after radical surgery altered her body so that she was biologically almost indistinguishable from a baseline Human. Molly deserved a chance to stretch her intellect, no matter what her status.

He left the car parked in front of the entrance to 221B Baker Street, opening the boot and pulling out Molly's new belongings while she studied the place she would spend the bulk of her time from now on. He'd already alerted the rental company and someone was on their way to pick up the car. Yes, it was illegal to leave it parked on the road but he and the local police had an understanding; as long as it was gone within an hour, it wouldn't be towed. He had Greg Lestrade to thank for that bit of clemency.

He glanced up, then did a double take as he saw that a light was on. Oh. John must be home then. He frowned; had he told Molly about having a flatmate? He couldn't remember, they'd discussed so many things during the two-hour car ride, and then the shopping, of course...

"Is he home, then? Your flatmate?" Molly asked, nodding up at the window before looking over to Sherlock. There was a trace of anxiety in her expression, and he supposed she might find the idea of meeting another new person a bit daunting.

"I imagine so, unless he's left the light burning," Sherlock replied, ushering Molly ahead of him and digging out his keys. He left the keys to the rental in the ignition; he had people watching the vehicle even if no one knew that was what they were doing, and anyone who tried to steal the car before the rental people got there would be in for a rude awakening.

He opened the door and waited for Molly to enter, then shut it behind them, pausing for a moment in indecision; should he inform John of his change in status first, or Mrs. Hudson? Perhaps, he concluded it would be best if he spoke to John first; judging by the scent of his landlady's "herbal soothers" she was not in a fit state for so serious a conversation.

Decision made, he led Molly to the stairs to his flat.


	5. Inferno: Meeting John

_A/N: I can't begin to tell you how overwhelmed I am at the positive reviews this story continues to receive. Hard at work at the next chapter (and still plugging away at "When Darkness Falls", I promise!) and will have it posted within the next couple of days, I think. Enjoy!_

* * *

**Inferno: Meeting John**

The door to the flat opened and John looked up from his laptop, surprised that Sherlock was home so early from his visit to the House he frequented. Usually he stayed until late in the night; once or twice he'd actually slept over, when he'd gone too long between visits and had even more energy than usual to work off.

His surprise doubled when Sherlock entered the flat and was immediately followed by a young woman.

His nose twitched and surprise became shock as he realized the young woman – attractive in a shy, unassuming sort of way, with really lovely auburn hair hanging far down her back – smelled very much like an Omega. He looked automatically for her Alpha or chaperone to follow the other two, assuming there was a case involved, and was once again shocked as Sherlock closed the door behind her.

"Molly, this is John Watson, my flatmate and best friend," Sherlock announced in that crisp, don't-even-try-to-interrupt-me way he had. "John, this is Molly. My Bondmate," he added with an air of defiance laced with uncertainty very foreign to his usual arrogant tones.

"Bondmate," John repeated, slowly rising to his feet, his eyes darting between the two of them in continued disbelief. "I'm sorry, did you just say 'Bondmate'?" he repeated as he approached them, stopping several feet away and bringing his gaze to meet Sherlock's. He couldn't help it; his nose twitched as he took in his friend's scent, which seemed very much to be intermingled with that of the Omega…which meant…

Sherlock nodded, confirming the impossible words he'd just spoken, although John's heightened olfactory senses were offering up more than enough evidence that Sherlock wasn't making some kind of macabre joke. "Bondmate," John repeated, finally looking straight at Molly. The Omega who had done the impossible, gotten Sherlock "I'm-no-ordinary-Alpha" Holmes to Bond with her. A slow grin spread across his features and he reached out to take her hand in his, knowing how dangerous an attempt at an embrace could be right now, no matter how innocently offered; Sherlock might not be an ordinary Alpha, but he was still an Alpha, and some instincts were harder to override than others. "Nice to meet you, Molly. Congratulations!"

He transferred his attention back to Sherlock, releasing Molly's hand and reaching for his friend's. "How long has this been going on, Sherlock? You never even hinted that you were seeing the same Omega all this time, let alone considering taking her as your Bondmate!"

Uh-oh; he recognized that expression, even if Molly's gasp of surprise hadn't been enough to warn him. "Um, Sherlock, this _is_ something you've been planning, right?" he asked, back to being bewildered again as Sherlock's gaze went completely opaque, the way it did when he either wanted to hide something or was about to reveal something no one wanted to hear.

"I neglected to fully introduce Molly to you, John," Sherlock said. John took note of the way his hand sought out Molly's, giving it a reassuring squeeze, which helped lower John's sudden tension. Something was off, but whatever it was, it wasn't some game Sherlock was playing with the Omega by his side. "Her name is Molly Hooper. You might recognize it from the rather gaudy headlines of two years ago."

Headlines...John's eyes widened as the name finally clicked. "You're the Omega who went to Oxford!" he exclaimed, examining her more closely this time, and not just as an attractive female. "But how did you two meet? How did this happen?" He was completely bewildered and only kept himself from babbling out more questions by calling upon his medical training.

There was a bandage peeping from beneath Molly's high-necked blouse, corresponding no doubt to the tiny flecks of blood on the corners of Sherlock's lips. So not only Bonded, but very recently Bonded. "Right. Bonded." He nodded once, then moved back to his seat and sank into it without taking his eyes off the other two. "Sherlock, perhaps you'd care to explain how this came about?"

It was, as expected, an amazing story. John felt as if he'd been run over by a lorry at the end of it.

Sherlock Holmes was Lifebonded to Molly Hooper, the Omega who had shocked the world by pretending to be a Beta for twenty-one years before being exposed by her dorm mate – a woman who'd struck John as a particularly vindictive little Alpha bitch who basked in the limelight for as long as she could get away with it. And the punishment that had been meted out to Molly's parents...disgraceful. Absolutely disgraceful. He'd felt that way at the time and still felt that way now, two years later. In fact, once the story was finished being told, he wasted no time in telling her that.

"Thank you, John, you don't know how much it means for me to hear you say that," Molly replied. She was a soft-spoken woman, petite and quite pretty, exactly the type he'd always been attracted to, but he was relieved to discover that all he felt toward her was a sort of brotherly protectiveness. Whether that was because she and Sherlock were already Bonded or fell under the nebulous realm of attraction and its sometimes baffling manifestations, he had no idea – and no desire to explore. He liked his throat in one piece, thank you very much.

As his medical training caught up with what he'd just been told, however, he felt the blood drain from his face as his eyes snapped up to meet Sherlock's. "Wait...you Bonded without Knotting?" he blurted out, delicacy and good manners completely waylaid by medical concern.

Sherlock nodded, the only sign that he was affected by John's unusual rudeness being a slight widening of his eyes. Molly, on the other hand, blushed a furious red as she stuttered: "It's...there wasn't time, and I've never...I'm still..."

John sank back in his seat as he continued to stare at the couple sitting across from him. Dear lord, it was even worse than he'd thought – and it had been bad enough, physiologically speaking, before that particular revelation. "You're a virgin," he said, and there must have been some hint of accusation – unintended, of course – in his voice, because Molly's expression, which had been wavering between confused and nervous, suddenly hardened into something very unfriendly.

She stuck her chin out in a manner that reminded him of Sherlock at his most stubborn and intimidating and said: "Yes, Dr. Watson, I am. Not that it's any of your business."

Oh, he understood exactly what Sherlock had seen in her, the fire that underlay the quiet exterior. Not a typical Omega at all, but then, her history argued against that anyway. That, however, was a matter for later contemplation; there were much more urgent things to deal with at the moment. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile, shooting off a rapid text to his sister. "I'm going to stay with Harry for the next week," he announced, rising to his feet. "There's plenty of food in the fridge, and Sherlock, for God's sake remember you'll both need to keep well hydrated, not just Molly."

He expected a biting comment from Sherlock on not wasting time stating the obvious; what he didn't expect, however, was for his flatmate to give him a puzzled stare and demand to know what John was talking about.

_Oh, no. Please, please don't let this mean that I have to spell it out for the two of them,_ John thought, panic mounting.

Another look at the two wary, puzzled faces in front of him gave the answer that yes, yes he was going to have to spell it out. Bloody _hell_. "Sherlock, Molly, do you mean to tell me you don't know what happens when Bonding takes place without sexual intercourse?"

Molly flushed even redder; even Sherlock looked vaguely uncomfortable – but both offered up mute head shakes in the negative, so John plowed ahead calling on every ounce of medical objectivity he could muster. "Look, generally Bonding occurs either during or immediately after Knotting, frequently during a shared Heat. With me so far?"

Now came the impatient look he'd expected from Sherlock earlier, the heavy sigh and signature eye-roll indicating that yes, thank you, he knew that much and do-go-on-with-it-John. "Right." John took a moment to clear his thoughts before continuing. "Right. When Bonding occurs outside of those parameters – which is very, very unusual, maybe one out of ten thousand Pair Bonds happen under those circumstances – it can bring on a spontaneous Heat. But even rarer is what can happen – no, what _does_ happen, always, 100% of the time – if the Omega has never had sex before. That brings on what's known as a Precipitous Heat. Even if the Omega has just come out of a Heat cycle, even if they're on suppressants or not due for months, the Bonding itself alters the body chemistry and the Omega goes into Heat within twenty-four hours. Sometimes less, closer to twelve hours. But always no more than a single day after Bonding."

It would have been almost funny, watching the panic bloom on Sherlock's normally detached features, if it hadn't been such a deadly serious situation. Well, perhaps "deadly" was stretching it a bit, but it certainly was serious. And there was one last question that had to be asked before he headed up to his room to pack. His mobile pinged while he was formulating the question; he ignored it as he spoke up. "Look, Molly, at the facility where you were staying..."

"Being kept," she bit out, some of her inner fierceness returning to the fore at the mention of a clearly hated place.

He nodded, as much because he agreed with her as to keep this necessary but embarrassing conversation moving along. "Right, that place – I presume they kept up your birth control even though you haven't, erm, done anything to require it?"

"Weekly shots," she replied with a shiver – of remembrance at uncomfortable jabs, or because of something else? Another question destined to remain unanswered, at least for now. "The nurse gave me one just yesterday."

John nodded. "Good, that's good. Should hold you through the next few days, but I recommend a visit to an Omega clinic as soon as things...settle back down for you. There are a few nearby, I'll text you the info, Sherlock, yeah?"

Sherlock seemed to come out of the daze he'd fallen into and gave a jerky nod in response to John's prodding. It was rather unnerving to see a normally confident – no, use the right word, _arrogant_ – Alpha appearing so unsettled, but there was nothing John could do about the situation. From this point on, it was up to Sherlock and Molly to sort things out.

He glanced at his mobile, pleased to see that his sister had answered in the affirmative. Good, so he had a place to stay until it was safe to return to the flat. He'd send Mrs. Hudson a text as well, telling her not to disturb Sherlock for any reason short of a bomb threat to the building – and Lestrade would have to be warned off as well.

All of which could wait until he'd thrown some things into his suitcase and was safely ensconced in a cab to his sister's house on the outskirts of London. He looked forward to the visit mostly because he hadn't seen his nephews in a few months. Clara really was a great influence on Harry; he was glad they'd worked things after Harry's stint in rehab when her drinking had gotten out of hand a few years back.

He mumbled something along the lines of "good luck," winced at his poor choice of words, then dashed up to his room to pack. Although there was a very good chance Sherlock and Molly would have another day to adjust to this new reality – had he remembered to tell them that even if they had sex right now it wouldn't do anything to stop the Heat, no, he'd have to do so before he left...what had he been thinking? Oh, right. Even though it was more likely to be another day before anything happened, the last thing Sherlock and Molly needed was himself hanging about. Even a Beta could be perceived as a threat under these circumstances; once the hormones really started messing with Sherlock's body chemistry, John wanted to be nowhere about.


	6. Inferno: Rising Heat

**Inferno: Rising Heat**

Molly's eyes were on her hands, which were clenched tightly together in her lap. She'd always known, being an Omega, that one day she'd find herself at least temporarily attached to an Alpha. That she would eventually, suppressants or not, succumb to Heat and Knotting and losing her virginity.

She'd even expected, after today's incredible whirlwind of events, to go through all that with Sherlock, her Bondmate.

She just hadn't expected any of it to be so soon.

They hadn't discussed it; there were so many other things that needed to be thrashed out between them, that sex had actually seemed like the least item on the list of priorities. Introducing her to her new home. Meeting John. Even eventually meeting Sherlock's brother, Mycroft, whom he spoke of with such disdain, and his Omega Bondmate and two sons had seemed of more importance than when she and Sherlock would initiate a physical relationship.

How had she not known about this Precipitous Heat thing? She'd studied, she thought, everything there was to know about her biology once she was old enough to understand what was going to eventually happen to her. Her parents had found a great deal of information for her that, while not strictly forbidden, was certainly kept from the general public. And her studies at Uni, as a pre-med student, had allowed her access to databases and medical journals she might otherwise never have been allowed to see…and yet none of them, not one, had even breathed the possibility of such a thing. Spontaneous Heats, yes, but nothing about what might happen if Bonding was precipitated outside of a sexual relationship.

Clearly it was as much a shock to Sherlock as it was to her. When she finally managed to raise her eyes to try and meet his, it was to find that he'd sunk further into his seat, legs sprawled in front of him in a parody of a relaxed pose belied by the tension radiating from his body as he gazed into the middle distance over his raised and steepled fingers. When she tried to catch his attention, it was like he wasn't even there.

She'd risen from her own seat and begun pacing a bit in indecision when John Watson came clattering down the stairs, suitcase in hand. She watched as he skidded to a halt in front of Sherlock's chair, frowning before transferring his gaze to her. Immediately he offered up a reassuring smile as he walked to her side. "It's something he does, goes into his mind – mind palace he calls it, nothing modest about Sherlock Holmes! – and sorts through his memories. It's some kind of organizational thing," he added in what was clearly another attempt to be reassuring. "He's probably looking to see if he ever heard of a Precipitous Heat before, or else he's just reviewing what he knows about Pair Bonding. He'll come out of it soon enough. Just…try to be patient, yeah?"

Molly nodded, accepting the brief, awkward hug John offered her before stepping back and once again offering her what she knew was meant to be a reassuring smile – although right now nothing would reassure her about anything. "I know this must be a bit overwhelming, but speaking strictly as a medical professional – and as Sherlock's friend and, I hope, yours if you'll allow it – you two shouldn't wait for the Heat to come on before…well, you know." He flushed a bright red that Molly found endearing in spite of her dazed and jumbled thoughts. "It'll be a sight easier on you if you don't have to worry about the two of you being completely out of control for your first time. It won't stop the Heat from coming on, but it will make things…better. I think."

He fell silent after offering that bit of advice, gave her another quick hug, then hurried to the door to the flat. "I'll send Mrs. Hudson a text telling her not to disturb you, and Lestrade as well – Sherlock's told you about them, yeah?"

"Yes, I've told Molly about our landlady and my relationship with DI Lestrade." Sherlock's voice came unexpectedly from behind the two, who turned to face him with equally startled expressions on their faces. "Thank you for your advice John, do give your sister my regards. Don't you have a cab to catch?"

His words were spoken in a rapid-fire monotone, somewhat off-putting to Molly's ears, but John simply nodded as if it was exactly what he'd expected to hear from his friend, opened the door, closed it behind him and rattled down the stairs. Molly heard the distant sound of the exterior door opening and closing, and once again raised her eyes to meet Sherlock's stony-faced gaze.

His eyes softened a bit as she nervously nibbled on her lower lip, her hands twisting around one another as she struggled with what to say or do.

Sherlock spared her from any sort of decision making by rising to his feet and taking the few steps necessary to bring him directly in front of her. He held out his hand. "Shall I show you around your new home, Molly?" he asked, his voice hoarse with some unknown emotion – embarrassment, unease, discomfort? Molly had no idea how to read him when his expression remained blank. She nodded, took his hand and allowed him to bring her around the flat.

The tour, such as it was, ended at his bedroom – their bedroom, she supposed it was now. She felt a flush spreading across her face and torso and prayed it was just another flash of embarrassment rather than the first sign of her Heat coming on. That thought gave her the courage, as they stood in the doorway and regarded the room's sparse furnishings – bed, dresser, wardrobe, desk and chair – to finally speak. "Is it possible…do you think he could be wrong? Or mistaken? Should we wait and see what happens before we…I don't want you to have to do anything you're not ready for or don't want to," she added in a rush.

Sherlock gazed at her with a raised eyebrow, lips quirked up in a definite expression of amusement. "Shouldn't that be my line, Molly? After all, you're the one who's never experienced intercourse before."

When put so clinically she'd have thought it would sound sterile; instead, Sherlock's deep baritone made it sound like the filthiest things she'd ever heard, and deepened the flush on her skin. She felt a familiar sensation in her groin; desire, stabbing outward. Desire she'd only ever satisfied – if one could call it that when only partial success was ever achieved – on her own.

He saved her from having to answer him by adding: "Trust me, Molly, I'm not being forced into anything. And no, to answer your first question, I don't believe John is wrong or mistaken. He's done extensive research into Omega biology since becoming my friend, although he stopped sharing his findings with me several years ago. I…may have been a bit harsh with him after my father's death and my mother's unfortunate reaction to the breaking of their Lifebond."

So that was why he hadn't mentioned his parents yet. Molly felt a surge of horrified sympathy; losing a Bondmate was excruciatingly difficult for the surviving member of the Bonded pair. "Can't any of the new drugs do anything for her?" she asked, impulsively laying her hand on his arm as her eyes met his. Some of the pharmaceuticals developed during Alzheimer's research had proven effective in lessening the mental aftereffects of a broken Pair Bond in some cases.

Sherlock shook his head, a fleeting expression of regret crossing his face as he replied: "No. She was too far gone by the time the more promising drugs became available. I'm afraid there's nothing to be done for her now."

"I'm sorry." Molly knew it was ridiculous to apologize for something that she had no control over, and half-expected Sherlock to snap at her for attempting such a thing, but all he did was smile softly and give her hand a gentle squeeze.

He'd held her hand twice now since their arrival, but for some reason, this time the skin-to-skin contact brought another one of those electrifying jolts to her body. She felt the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck literally rise up as she gazed into his eyes, darkened as she knew her own must be with arousal. Goosebumps erupted across her flesh and her breathing became a series of ragged gasps as her heart sped up and her knees trembled.

His grip tightened and he reached out with his other hand to steady her. As soon as his fingers closed around her upper arm she realized what was happening. No, her Heat hadn't started, but their Bond had strengthened, allowing her to feel his emotions as well as her own, and vice versa. He wanted her, it wasn't just a kindness on his part, some peculiar sense of obligation or simple moral outrage at the situation in which he' d found her. He actually wanted her, as much as she wanted him.

Suddenly, losing her virginity seemed less like a chore to be undertaken and more like a long-anticipated event – Christmas and all her birthdays and trips to the fair all rolled up in one.

Without thinking, she tiptoed up, looped her arm around his neck, and kissed him.

**oOo**

Sherlock felt a wave of heat flash over his body as soon as Molly's lips, so soft and sweet, met his. Thought fled, his mind mercifully stilled as he unconsciously pulled her tight against his body, his hands and arms rearranging themselves until she was enfolded in his embrace. There was no change in her scent to signal an oncoming Heat, so he had nothing to blame except his own desire.

Even the fact that he'd gone over six months before visiting the House from which he'd rescued Molly and hadn't actually accomplished what he'd gone there to do in the first place couldn't explain his overwhelming reaction to her. Yes, she was his Bondmate; yes, he could feel her desire for him radiating from her very pores, deepening her scent and raising her pulse and affecting her in all the ways physical desire was known for, but neither of those really explained his own response to her.

Further research into the matter was clearly called for. Later. Much, much later, when his mind could fully focus on such things. Right now all he could think about was how much he enjoyed the feel of her in his arms, how soft and warm she felt, how eagerly she met his kisses with her own. He slid his tongue along her lower lip, wondering exactly how much experience she had; there were many gradations on the scale of "Experienced" to "Inexperienced" and he was very eager to explore the differences between the two of them.

Sometime later – he wasn't sure how long, since the feeling of her mouth opening eagerly beneath his, her tongue just as eagerly assaulting his mouth in a manner that clearly showed she'd done this much, at least, sometime in her unknown past – he pulled his head back, gazing down at her, thoroughly enjoying the way her breathing was coming in short gasps, just as his was; the way her brown irises were almost completely occluded by her blown-back pupils, the sheen of sweat rising on her brow...

Oh. Shit. She was red and sweaty and all they'd done was kiss; surely it couldn't be, there'd been no signs when they entered the bedroom...

He sniffed, not bothering to hide the action from her, and his nose confirmed what his mind and eyes had already caused him to suspect: Molly's Heat was coming on, just as quickly as John had warned them it might.

* * *

_A/N: Yeah, I'm a tease. Sexytimes next chapter, no delays and no fake outs...promise! ;)_


	7. Inferno: Conflagration Ignites

_A/N: OK, here it is, the Good Stuff! Enjoy!_

* * *

It happened so quickly Molly barely had time to process the change in her body before Sherlock was dashing out of the room. Shit, her Heat had started, where was he going? She hesitated between following him and staying where she was, feeling the flush spreading across her body from her groin, radiating in both directions until even the top of her head and the soles of her feet were burning.

God, it had never come on like this before, not even the first one after she'd been taken off her suppressants. Her clothes were suddenly suffocating her, her feet sweating inside her flat-soled slides and thin socks. She shucked them off almost automatically, squirming as she glanced once more at the bedroom door, fingers fidgeting with the buttons to her blouse. God, the fabric wasn't that harsh and scratchy when she'd put the blouse on this morning was it?

Even the bandage covering the wound on her neck was irritating her skin; before she realized she'd even touched it, she found it in her hands, balled up, and sought out a bin. There was a small one next to the dresser, she dropped the used bandage into and caught sight of her reflected self in the mirror.

She was bright red, with sweat beading on her forehead, her eyes wide, pupils blown, teeth worrying her bottom lip, entire body shaking with the onslaught of the Heat.

She couldn't wait a second longer; she turned toward the door, her only thought to seek out her Bondmate and throw herself into his arms when Sherlock reappeared. He hurried through the bedroom door, arms loaded with packets of crisps and bottles of water, which he hastily dumped on his dresser top, heedless of the other items already haphazardly piled there. She breathed in the scent of him, a low whine of need escaping her throat as she tilted her head to the side and began undoing the buttons to her blouse, fingers scrambling madly to loosen the high collar.

They nearly collided as he turned to face her, lowering his head automatically in order to bury his nose in her throat while his hands reached out to pull her taut against his body. Even the sting of his flesh against her still-raw bite mark was a welcome relief to the rising inferno within, the sensation of flames licking her flesh relieved simply by his touch. The hardness of his cock against her groin and belly was a sweet torture, but her hands were trapped up near her throat; he was too strong for her to pull free of his hold and besides, why would she want to? They were Bondmates, she could feel his growing need tangling with her own, and knew that it wouldn't be long before their bodies would be just as tangled as their emotions.

He batted her fingers aside, not bothering with anything so time consuming as unbuttoning her blouse, electing instead to simply rip them off. She shucked the blouse as he raised his head and brought his mouth crashing down on hers for a kiss that nearly caused her to come then and there, even with far too many layers of clothes still providing a barrier between them.

Her hands were free now, free to tug at his belt and undo the buttons and zip to his trousers, free to explore the burning length of his thickening shaft, pull it free of his pants and stroke it with her fingers. She'd never done anything like this before, had never gotten farther with any boyfriend than deep kisses, but instinct guided her where experience and intellect fell short.

Sherlock growled as her explorations grew steadily more urgent, finally releasing her long enough for the remainder of their clothing to be discarded and for him to tug her to his bed, pushing her down on top of the duvet before covering her with his lean form.

The last coherent thought she had was simple and to the point as his mouth lowered to suck eagerly at each of her breasts in turn.

_Finally._

**oOo**

The smell of her was overwhelming. As soon as Sherlock reentered his bedroom and deposited the chips and bottled water on his dresser, he knew his ability to reason was going to be severely short-circuited for a while. Fortunately the situation hardly called for the use of higher intellect; no, for once in his life he was going to be forced to give himself over completely to his Alpha instincts, to surrender in a way he never had in the past.

He could feel Molly's emotions; discomfort and a hint of nervousness but overwhelming it all her need for him, the lust coming off her in virtual waves that crashed into his own arousal. His dick was throbbing, harder than he'd ever thought it could become. Every other Omega he'd ever fucked faded into insignificance when compared to the petite woman in his arms (when had he taken her in his arms, when had he lowered his nose to her throat and began nuzzling the raw wound his teeth had torn into her throat, when had he begun kissing her…). Her scent was intoxicating, the honey and lilac and even the underlying hint of vinegar serving to fuel his desire.

Once their clothes were gone and she was lying beneath him, he regained enough control of himself not to simply shove himself between her legs and thrust into her. Yes, in her heightened state of arousal she would be almost completely unaware of any pain, but after he'd Knotted her and she'd been granted temporary relief from the frenzy of the Heat, the pain would no doubt return tenfold, and the last thing he wanted to do was have her endure the next several days in a state of severe pain whenever reason returned to her.

Although he'd never slept with a virgin before – even at the height of his drug use he hadn't been so depraved – he knew the basics of anatomy, knew that the first time needed to be far more gentle than what an Omega could typically endure during a Heat.

With that in mind, holding on to the last ounce of his self-control, he nudged her legs open and slipped down so that his hands were resting on her thighs and his mouth hovered above her groin.

The scent of her Heat was even stronger here, the slick wetness impossible to resist. He buried his head between her legs, listening with part of his mind to her keening wails of relief as her hands scrabbled at the bedclothes and her hips bucked as soon as his tongue and lips unerringly found her clit.

She was soaking wet, the coverlet beneath her damp and no doubt about to be ruined, although he couldn't bring himself to care, too delirious at the taste of her on his lips, the scent of her filling his nostrils and stirring every instinct he'd ever tried to suppress, bringing his libido raging into overdrive. He pulled his head away after it was clear that his tongue alone wasn't going to be enough to fully prepare her for his eventual penetration; fingers were called for, at least two, possibly three. Not that he was any barnyard creature when it came to size, but she was so damned tiny he couldn't help worrying about tearing her, wondering if she'd be able to take his Knot after all…

The feeling of her hands tugging at his hair snapped him out of his thoughts; he lifted his head, two fingers still pressed deep inside her (when had thought become action, he'd never lost track of himself like this before, although he found it intriguing rather than annoying) and met her gaze.

"Please," she groaned, even as her hips continued to thrust against his fingers as they pressed against her internal barrier. "God, Sherlock, please…I need you inside me, properly, you're killing me, please…"

Her words devolved into incoherent pleas as he raised himself above her, positioning himself with one hand before easing into her as gently as he could manage, self-control almost a thing of the past but not quite burned out of him by their comingled need and the scent of her Heat nearly driving him out of his fucking mind.

Within a few strokes control finally shattered, torn away by the feeling of her fingernails digging into this shoulders as he pressed his torso tightly against hers; her legs were wrapped just as tightly around his waist, her own movements urging him to drive deeper, faster, harder, although she couldn't quite manage to actually speak the words he felt murmuring though his mind. The barrier gave way as she cried out her first orgasm, her entire body spasming and shaking around his. He felt his Knot growing, filling her, driving him to shallower thrusts but with little change in speed until suddenly he came completely apart, his cum surging into her in a hot gush, bringing her to a second climax as he his mouth sought out the gash in her neck and he once again sank his teeth deep into her flesh, sucking at the blood, deepening the Bond they already shared as they shuddered their way to completion.


	8. Inferno: Immolation

_A/N: This is the last chapter for "Inferno." I need to finish up some other stuff, then will start working on part three (working title: Blaze). More smexy, some fighting, some seriously Alpha Sherlock and I hope it all makes sense! Enjoy, and remember I own nothing but the plot and the words, sadly._

* * *

Molly was soaking in the bathtub, luxuriating in the ability to do so. At the "facility" she'd only had access to a shower stall; Sherlock's tub alone was worth moving to Baker Street for, she decided, dreamily resting her head on the broad rim of the old-fashioned claw-foot "monstrosity," as Sherlock called it. He'd already informed her that he generally preferred a shower unless he'd strained muscles whilst on one of his cases, either for DI Lestrade or for private clients. She, on the other, hand, had already decided that she was only going to stand under the spray if she needed to wash her hair. Which she'd already done, earlier in the day. After she and Sherlock had Knotted for the first time.

She blushed just thinking about it, which was ridiculous; they'd already had sex twice today, as her intervals between Heats seemed to last roughly three hours at this point. After their second time Sherlock had insisted on drawing this bath for her, after pounding downstairs to demand a box of lavender-scented Epson's salts from his landlady.

That memory brought another blush to Molly's cheeks; she'd had to catch hold of his arm and remind him to at least put on a dressing-gown before leaving the flat. It had seemed ridiculous for them to reclothe themselves between her Heats, especially not knowing if the intervals would continue to last as long as they had so far, or if they would gradually lessen before once again lengthening, as Sherlock's research into Precipitous Heats had shown they had the potential to do.

She was in awe of his computer skills, but she suspected there were many, many things about her Bondmate that she would find herself in awe of...first and foremost of which was his ability to completely satisfy her during a shared Heat.

"Stop blushing, Molly, it's a bit ridiculous at this point, don't you think?"

His lazy drawl caught her attention, and she turned her head to gaze up at him as he rested against the bathroom doorframe, grinning down at her from his superior height, but with a warmth that tempered any possible sting in his words. "You don't even know what I was blushing about," she retorted, feeling the heat in her cheeks abating not one whit at the sight of his naked form.

He was all lean angles and planes and God, those cheekbones! She hadn't really had a chance to catalog all the lovely bits and pieces of him until now. How had she been so unbelievably lucky as to catch his attention, and keep it past the moments of their first meeting? What could he possibly see in her, plain, boring Molly Hooper...

"Stop it," he said, more sharply this time. He entered the bathroom and knelt by the tub, running the back of hand across her cheek, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. She'd pinned it on top of her head in a messy bun that he claimed did wonders for her neck. "There's nothing ordinary about you, Molly Hooper, and believe me, I know the catalog of my own faults quite well. So stop comparing the two of us and wondering what I see in you. It's completely unnecessary, and far too late for us even if one of us regretted the Bond. Which I know neither of us does," he added, leaning forward to punctuate his pronouncement with a kiss.

When the kiss ended, Molly stared at him, not bothering to hide her bemusement. "How do you do that?" she asked. "I mean, yes, there's the Bond so you and I can share emotions, but how do you actually get into my head and know what's behind the way I feel?"

"Deduction, the same way I recognize a violinist from a cellist by the patterns of their calluses. The same way I can tell the murderer from the person everyone else _thinks_ is the murderer." He paused, looking just a little big smug as he added: "The way I can tell an extraordinary Omega from the masses and masses of ordinary, boring Omegas. Some facts are simply obvious."

Molly bit her lip and lowered her eyes. "That is quite possibly the nicest thing anyone has said to me except for my parents."

"Is it?" Sherlock sounded pleased. "Do please tell John that, will you? I don't usually get it right this soon after meeting someone, and never anyone I've just shagged."

**oOo**

Oh. Not good. Not good at all. Even without the Bond Sherlock knew he'd just said something very, very wrong. Molly's soft expression had gone rather hard, her breathing had hitched, and her hands, which had been resting on the side of the tub as she leaned toward him, were clutching it tightly. "I've just spoiled it," he said with genuine regret, settling back on his heels and running his fingers through his hair. "I do that, quite a bit, actually, just ask John. Say things that upset people even when I don't mean to."

She gave him a forced, over-bright smile and leaned back in the tub, not meeting his eyes as she said, "No, really, it's all right. Don't worry about it, I'm just all hormones and instincts right now, you know how it is."

One hand remained on the edge of the tub; before she could remove it, he caught it in his and waited until their eyes met. "Molly, you have to understand something about me," he said. "I'm not exactly like other people. There are a lot of things – social conventions – that make no sense to me, and I have very little patience for any of it. But I do try not to hurt the people I care about. And in spite of the fact that we've only just met, I do care about you, and not simply because of the Bond. That," he waved a dismissive hand, "that's just biology. Alpha and Omega and the impulse to procreate and to ensure that the offspring survives by any means possible, including binding the parents together to increase the chances of creating more offspring. You know all that, I know you do," he rushed on as she frowned at him...but allowed him to hold her hand. Good, that meant she was actually listening to him, hearing his words – or maybe she was just feeling his sincerity through the Bond. Either way, she wasn't pushing him away or dismissing him.

He paused, as John frequently reminded him to do, not to just rush out his words, to try and watch for the subtle clues that the other person might have something to say as well. In this case it was no great hardship, since he actually was interested in whatever Molly had to say to him. Perhaps he should explain that to her as well?

Perhaps not. She was nodding thoughtfully, still allowing him to hold her hand as she considered his words (again, or the emotions behind them, possibly both, difficult to discern based on the few visual clues she was offering him). "You're not good with people and emotions and social interaction, got it," she finally said with another nod, more as if affirming her understanding to herself rather than to him. Then a smile blossomed on her lips, and he had to hold back a very strong urge to kiss her as she added: "So what you're trying to tell me is that sometimes you'll say stupid things like you just did, and I should try to be patient with you and not take it at face value, especially if I can't interpret your emotions right away."

Her understanding – and forgiveness of whatever he'd said that had upset her – did it. He gave in, leaning forward to kiss her a little more warmly than he had minutes earlier. He felt her mouth opening beneath his and slid his tongue along her lower lip, between her teeth and into a lazy duel with her own.

By his reckoning they should still have over an hour before her next cycle began, but that didn't mean they couldn't continue to explore one another's bodies in the interim. Her breasts, for example, had been woefully underutilized during their first two sexual encounters; would she let him...

Yes, yes she would. She'd risen to her knees at his urging, and his mouth had fastened itself to her left breast before he was conscious of lowering his head. His hands rested on her waist, tugging her slightly closer as he slid his tongue along her nipple, feeling it harden to his touch, even as he felt and scented Molly's growing arousal. It was different to the sharp tang her scent gained when her Heat spiked, softer, more mellow but no less exciting.

She was moaning now as he moved to her other breast, this time taking the nipple in his teeth and biting down lightly. Her hands slid up to his head and she dug her fingers into his curls, kneading his scalp in a manner he found highly pleasurable.

When she made as if to get out of the tub, however, he gently but firmly pressed her back into the warm water. "Not yet, you should stay in there until the water starts to cool," he murmured, lips against her throat now, opposite to the wound he'd reopened in her throat during their first two bouts of lovemaking. That tender skin would no doubt be revisited again and again during the throes of Heat, until she was marked by a scar that only surgery could ever correct. Some Bonded pairs did that, to preserve their mates beauty, while other flaunted the scars proudly. He would ask Molly her preference…but later. When they were both fully in their right minds again.

As he nipped and nuzzled the tender skin just under her ear, he found his mind once again straying to the mark he'd made on the other side of her throat. It was a bit unsettling to realize that he hoped she would want to keep it, to discover he was almost as much a slave to his biology as any other Alpha who'd Bonded with his Omega, but then her lips were tugging at his ear lobe and her hands were sliding down to grasp his erection and his mind spontaneously short-circuited.

He gasped and bucked against her hands, nipping more sharply at her neck than he'd intended. Molly pulled back and stared at him through suddenly wary eyes; what was wrong? How odd, she was asking him the very same thing. "Sherlock? Is something wrong? Did I hurt you or…"

He shook his head. "God, no," he gasped out. "Just…keep doing what you're doing." He dropped on hand to grasp the edge of the tub, anchoring the other against the back of her neck, and lowered his head to press another urgent kiss to her lips.

Her felt her smiling against his mouth before returning the kiss. She grasped his cock more firmly and began sliding her hand up and down against his heated flesh, her other hand resting on his shoulder. Then her fingers were digging in deeper as he once again returned to ravishing her throat and neck, lips and teeth and tongue against her collarbone before he lost all control and gasped out her name as he spilled over her hand.

He felt a distinct sense of pride emanating from her, and once he'd recovered enough to open his tightly shut eyes, he pulled his head back and frowned at her in mock displeasure. "Molly Hooper, you appear to have enjoyed that far more than a lady should."

"Sherlock Holmes," she replied, imitating his tone and expression but with a hint of an impish smile on her lips, "you appear to have enjoyed it as well, so if I were you, I would shut it and find a way to pay me back."

Was that _challenge_ he heard in her voice? An Omega _challenging_ her Bonded Alpha? His lips curled in a snarl as he dug his fingers into her hair and yanked her forward so that their noses were almost touching. "Get out of the tub," he growled. "_Now_."

She was moving before he'd finished speaking, scrambling out of the bath so quickly that water sloshed over the side and onto his legs. He ignored it, not even bothering to wipe off the sticky residue on his abdomen as he grabbed her by the hips and forcefully laid her on the tile floor. She yelped a bit at his harsh handling of her – or perhaps at the coldness of the tile against her warm flesh – but he ignored the sound, eyes darkening as he glowered at her. Her own eyes had gone wide with concern – not true fright, not yet, and not ever if he could help it – then snapped shut as he bent down, nudged her legs apart, and buried his face between her legs.

This time his goal wasn't merely preparation; no, he fully intended to cause her to come completely undone with only his mouth. To hear her screaming his name while she dug her fingers into his scalp, while her body writhed and bucked beneath his until she was nothing but a limp, sodden mass. Challenge him, would she? Oh no, there was no _way_ he would let that pass.

**oOo**

Molly could feel Sherlock's outrage at her words through their ever-strengthening bond, and it thrilled and scared her in equal measures. She'd only meant to tease, but should have realized in their current state of emotional fragility that he would take her words as a challenge. She was out of the tub and flat on her back on the cool tile floor in seconds, sucking in a harsh breath as Sherlock's fingers dug into her hips. She bit her lip and watched him through wary eyes, sucking in another breath as he suddenly dove between her legs, lifting her thighs and spreading them before his mouth latched onto her sex and his tongue – oh, God, that marvelous, clever tongue of his – drove deeply inside of her.

She whimpered and flailed a bit, not sure what to do with her hands, until one of them landed in his hair and she knew exactly what she should be doing with them. Her fingers dug into his scalp, tugging at those glorious dark curls, and he growled against her pussy and she gasped out his name as the sensations exploded over her body. Yes, he'd put his mouth and fingers on her private parts earlier, but this was different; then, she'd been focused only on getting him fully inside her, feeling his cock filling her and wanting, needing his Knot and cum to bring her to fulfillment. Now, during the ebb tide of Heat, she could focus on how fucking wonderful his mouth and tongue felt, the way he unerringly sought out and found her clit and licked it with precisely the right amount of pressure to bring her screaming over the edge.

She went limp, eyes shut tight, body shuddering with a series of delicious aftershocks as Sherlock lay down next to her. She should have known cuddling wasn't on the agenda, however, and found herself gasping in surprise, her eyes flying open as she felt him yank her by the hair, pulling her head back and exposing her throat to his view.

When her eyes met his, he lowered his face until they were once again nose to nose. "Don't ever challenge me like that, Molly. Never again. I pride myself on my self control, but clearly until the Bond between us has been fully established I will be more sensitive to my Alpha nature, less able to rein in my instincts. Yes, it could simply be due to the heightened emotions brought on by your Heat, but I suspect we will both find ourselves having to adjust to the changes that are still occurring in our bodies. Do I make myself clear?"

Yes, she was an Omega, and yes, he was her Bondmate and an Alpha, so her first instinct was to submit fully to him. But she'd lived her life as a Beta, dammit, had fought to rise above her biology and so faced an internal struggle as she tamped down on her desire to snap at him. She was no one's slave; hadn't he rescued her from that prison because he felt the same way?

She knew her mixed emotions must be pouring through the Bond, but interestingly enough he did nothing, said nothing, simply watched and waited for her response. His own emotions were fairly easy to read; tension, the instinctive need to dominate, a faint hint of worry, even, but underlying it all a strong sense that he needed her to understand that he _wasn't_ like all the other Alphas she'd ever met, that he meant exactly what he was saying to her and nothing more.

He was, in short, coming as close as any strong Alpha could to pleading for her understanding. For her patience with him – asking her not to add to the emotional burden he was currently struggling with. Just as she was always struggling with her own instincts. And yes, the Heat was intensifying everything, but until the hormones overwhelmed her again she was still a thinking, reasoning being.

Her response was a simple nod; he'd eased his grip on her hair and she was able to turn her head and willingly offer him her throat to emphasize her capitulation to him.

Well, her capitulation to him for now. Later, once the Heat had finally run its course, the two of them were going to have a long, detailed conversation about their expectations for one another. As his mouth descended to her throat, the tension flowing out of his body as he nipped at her pulse point in ritualistic acceptance of her submission to him, all she could think about was how gloriously tempestuous things were bound to be between them.

He'd told her she was nor ordinary Omega, and she knew he was certainly no ordinary Alpha. Those two simple facts were going to keep things very, very interesting between the two of them for a long, long time.


End file.
